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PAST REDEMPTION. 4 A 

COMRADES. Acts Pr 

TITANIA. A Fairy Piny for Child Price 25 cts. 

oilt FOLKS. eta. 

SANTA CLAUS THE FIRST. A Christmns Play for Children. By F.E.Chase. 25 o 
REBECCA'S TRIUMPH. For female characters only. 1' 



CEO. M. BAKER'S 
NEW PLAYS. 



PS 1059 
B22 N4 
1882 
Copy 1 




Copyright, I- 



Spencer's Universal Stage. 

A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either Public or Private 
Performance. Containing a full description of all the 
necessary Stage Business. 

PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH, tea- No Piays Exchanged. 



1. LOST IK LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 

6 male, 4 female characters. 

2. NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acta. 

By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3 female char. 
S. THE WELSH GIF.L. A Comedy in 1 Act. 
By Mrs. Planche. 3 male, 2 female char. 

4. JOHN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

W. E. Suter. 4 male, 2 female char. 

5. THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By Montague Williams and F. C. Burnaud. 
6 male, 1 female char. 

6. THE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 

Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 

7. OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 

Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 male- 2 female char. 
B. TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A 

Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male char. 
9. SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 3 iemale char. 

10. TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A 

Farce in 1 Act. By Lenox Home. 4 male, 
1 female char. 

11. JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act. ByJ.M. 

Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 

12. THE DAUGHTER of the REGIMENT. 

A Drama in 2 Acts. By Edward Fitzball, 

6 male, 2 female char. 
'3- AUNT CHARLOTTE'S MAID. AFarceinl 

Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 
14 BROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 

1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 3 female char. 

15. DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 

Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. 

16. DUNDUCKETTY'S PICNIC. A Fnrce in 1 

Act. By T. J. Williams. 6 male, 3 female char. 

17. I'VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce 

in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female 
char. 

19. MY PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 

Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female char. 

20. Ml TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 

22. THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce 

in 1 Act. By Chas. Selby. G male, 2 female char. 

23. DANDELION'S DODGES. A Farce in 1 

Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 

24. A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2 female char. 

26. ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 

Act. By Horace Wigan. 3 male, 3 female char. 
26 A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy 
in 2 Acts. By Charles Matthews. 6 male, 4 
female char. 

27. ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act. By 

Thomas Morton. 6 male, 3 female char. 

28. BOWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act. By H. 

T. Craven. 4 male, 3 female char. 

29 COUSIN TOM. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By 
Geo. Roberts. 3 male, 2 female char. 

30. SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 
Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char. 

SI. HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A 
Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and N. H. Har- 
rington- 7 male, 3 female char. 

32. THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male 6 female char. 

33. A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 

Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4 iemale char. 
34 YOUR LIFE'S IN DANGER. A Farce in 

1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 
35. TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. 

By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6 male, 2 female char. 



3'/. 



DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An Interlude 

in 1 Act. By W. H. Murray. 10 male, 1 female 

char. 
LOOK AFTER BROWN. AFarceinl Act 

By George A. Stuart, M. D. 6 male, 1 female 

char. 
MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Acts. By 

Thomas Archer. 15 male, 3 female char. . 

A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A 
Force in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male char. 

BROTHER BEN. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. 
M.Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 

ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama in 1 Act. 
By J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female char. 

GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A 
Drama in 3 Acts. By George Almar. 10 male, 
2 female char. 

SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 
A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby Lawrence. 3 
male, 3 female char. 

DON'T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A 
Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 
female char. 

NURSE Y CHICKWEED. A Farce In 1 Act- 
By T. J. Wiiliams. 4 male, 2 female char. 

MARY MOO ; or, Which shall I Marry? 
A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suler. 2 male, 1 
female char. 

EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. 8 male, 
7 female char. 

THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in 5 Acts. 
By Robert Jones. 16 male, 7 female char. 

SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Commedi- 
etta in 1 Act. By R. R. Andrews. 4 male, 3 fe- 
male char. 

DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By Chas. 
Reade. 5 mate, 2 female char. 

THE WIFE'S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. 
By Geo. W. Lovell. 10 male, 2 female char. 

THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A Com- 
edy in 3 Acts, By Tom Taylor. 10 male, 3 fe- 
male char. 

PUTKINS -, Heir 1 3 Ca8tle3 in the Air. 
A Comic Drama in i Act. By W. R. Emerson. 

2 male, 2 fe.nale char. 

AN UGI Y CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By Thymus J. Williams. 3 male, 2 female char. 

BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy in 1 Act 

3 male, 2 female char. 

A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 

1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char. 

THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 
Acts. 8 male, 7 female char. 

WHICH WILL HAVE HIM ? A Vaude- 
ville. 1 male, 2 female char. 

MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act. 

2 male, 2 female char. 

THE ANONYMOUS KISS. A Vaudeville. 

2 male, 2 female char. 
THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 

5 male, 3 female char. 
A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TINKER, 

AND A TAILOR. A Farce in 1 Aci. 4 male, 

2 female char. 
GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 

2 male, 2 female char. 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Farce. 6 

male, 4 female char. 
A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic 

Drama in 2 Acts. 6 male, 3 female char. 
PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestic 

Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1 female char. 



Descriptive Catalogue mailed free on application to 

Geo. M. Baker k Co., 47 Franklin St., Boston. 



NEVADA; 



OR, 



THE LOST MINE 



% 2Drama in €t>t*e %tt$. 



BY 

GEORGE M. BAKER, 

AUTHOR OF "COMRADES," " BETTER THAN GOLD," "PAST REDEMP- 
TION," "REBECCA'S TRIUMPH," "AMONG THE BREAKERS," 
"THE LAST LOAF," "ABOVE THE CLOUDS," "OUR 
FOLKS," "MY BROTHER'S KEEPER," ETC. 



k 




11 

BOSTON: 
GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY. 

1882. 



■0 



* rt fa n *),J 



Copyright, 1882, 
By GEORGE M. BAKER. 



! 



CHARACTERS. 

NEVADA, the Wanderer. 

VERMONT, an Old Miner. 

TOM CAREW l YouNGMmERS . 

DANDY DICK, \ 

SILAS STEELE, Missionary of Health. 

JERDEN, a Detective. 

JUBE, a -Black Miner. 

WIN-KYE, a Chinaman. 

MOTHER MERTON. 

AGNES FAIRLEE. 

MOSELLE, a Waif. 

COSTUMES. 

Nevada. Long white hair and beard, gray shirt, dark pants, both 
ragged; boots and belt; one leg of pants in boot, the other hanging in 

ribbons. . ,. . . , 

Vermont. Iron-gray bald wig and beard, gray shirt, overalls tucked 
in boots, belt, pistol in hip-pocket, short coat, slouch hat. 

Tom Full black beard, blue shirt, dark pants tucked in long boots, 
black necktie, short coat, pistol in hip-pocket, slouch hat worn jauntily, 
red handkerchief worn for belt. 

Dandy Dick. Light hair and beard, trimmed ; blue shirt with red 
necktie, dark pants tucked in long boots, dark coat, Derby hat; dressed 
neatly as possible. 

Terden Full beard, mixed suit, pistol in hip-pocket, Derby hat, 
Juhe. Woolly wig, black face, throat, and arms, red shirt thrown back 
from throat, with sleeves rolled up to elbow, overalls in boots. 
Win-Kye. White pants, blue blouse, cue. 

Silas. Red wig, mustache, and goatee, tourist blouse, long boots, 
slouch hat. 

Mother. Gray wig, calico dress. 
Agnes. Travelling-dress and hat. 

Moselle. First Dress. Travelling-dress, hat and feather, neat and 
tasty. Second Dress. Short red dress, blue kerchief knotted loosely on 
breast, light stockings, boots, broad-brimmed straw hat, arms bare, hair 
free. 



THE LOST MINE. 



ACT I.— Wooded and rocky flat; inclined run R., masked 
by rocks, leading up from a rocky platform c; door and 
part of a log cabin, L., creepers and vines running over it, 
rocks and foliage ; L. mask the remainder; R. rocks and 
foliage, rock for a seat R., near 2 entrance. Stump for a 
seat l., between platform and door; on rock masking run 
r. in large white letters, " Busted' 's Balm," to which with 
paint-pail in left hand, and brush in right, Silas Steele 
is discovered giving a finishing touch. Silas sings, — 

Oh ! here's to good old Busted, 

Write him down ; 
Oh ! here's to good old Busted, 

Write him down ; 
Oh ! here's to good old Busted, 

For his balm is always trusted : 
Write him down, write him down, write him down. 

(Stands of, and looks at his work) Again the missionary 
of health plants his victorious banner on a giant bowlder, 
that shall forever point the westward hoers to the fountain 
of health. {Sets down pail, and looks at his hands.) A foun- 
tain of water would be more to my taste just now : the handle 
of that pail is in a bad condition, but I'll fix it. (Takes a 
newspaper from his pocket, and wraps it round handle while 
speaking.) Big scheme of Busted to spread his balm all 
over the continent, from Switcham, Vt., to the top of the 
Sierra Nevadas. Such outward applications of the infal- 
lible awaken curiosity, curiosity stirs the sluggish brain to 
action, the active brain arouses the torpid system,,, and 

5 



6 THE LOST MINE. 

health re-animates the sinking frame. For further particu- 
lars see small bills. That M 's a little shaky; I'll touch it 
up a little, or some of these hardy miners will take it for a 
bad spell : and, being so choice in their language, that would 
never do. ( Works with brush. Sings), — 

Oh ! here's to good old Busted. 

{Enter from cabin Mother Merton, with broom.) 
Mother. Who on earth is that howling? 
Silas {sings), — 

Write him down, 

Mother. A stranger ! What's he doing to that rock ? 
Silas (sings), — 

Oh ! here's to good old Busted. 

Mother. Busted ! I do believe he's trying to blast it 
right before my door — blow us all up. (Brings broom down 
on his back smartly?) Here, stop that ! 

Silas (turning, and presenting brush like a pistol). 
Look out for paint. (Mother steps back) I beg your par- 
don; but, if there is anything in my personal appearance 
that leads you to suspect my jacket needs dusting, a gentler 
application of the duster might save the dustor some strength, 
and the dusteed much wind. Hang it ! you nearly took away 
my breath. 

Mother. Served you right. Who are you ? Where did 
you come from ? What's that daub ? 

Silas (aside). Daub ! shade of Michael Angelo ! (Aloud) 
Madam, I am a missionary. 

Mother. Good gracious ! A parson. Why didn't you 
say so before ? Settled ? 

Silas. No. (Rubs shoulders.) I thought I was just 
now. 

Mother. Where do you hail from, parson ? 

Silas. Switcham, Vt. That answers your second in- 
terrogatory. The third I will save you the trouble of 
repeating by announcing the fact that the daub, as you are 
pleased to call my etching, is the good tidings I am ordained 
to proclaim. That's one of my sermons ; and sermons in 
stones, though not original with me, have at least the merit 
of brevity to recommend them. 



THE LOST MINE. 7 

Mother. " Busted's Balm." Are you Busted ? 

Silas. No ; but I shall be if you ask any more questions. 

Mother. Oh, come, be sociable ! I came from Vermont 
myself. 

Silas. Possible ? , 

Mother. Yes : twelve years ago, with my husband, ex- 
pecting to return in two years with a fortune ; but m two 
years husband died. 

Silas. Ah ! A ;/z/.rfortune. 

Mother. And here I've been ever since, the mother ot 
this camp; and my boys — white, black, and yellow — take 
good care that I have my share of the dust. 

Silas {shrugs shoulders). I understand — with a broom. 

Mother. La, parson ! don't bear malice : do you suppose 
I'd have struck you, if I'd an idea«of your cloth ? 

Silas. Thank you. My coat is rather thin. 

Mother. Expect to locate here ? The boys would be 
mighty glad to have you ; and they'd see that you had a 
peaceful hearing, if they had to shoot the whole congre- 

ga SiLAS. Would they? Very kind of the boys, but I hope 
they'd leave somebody to pass the contribution-box. 

Mother. Vermont would see to the dust. 

Silas. Who's Vermont ? 

Mother. The best of the lot, steady as a clock, but a 
powerful wrestler ; that's his weakness. . ~ 

Silas. Is it? I've a strong weakness in that line too. 

Mother. You'd have no show with him. Now, par- 
son . !_*•<: 

Silas. Oh, drop that ! This person is no parson, but, it 
the old saying is true, just the opposite ; for I am a deacon s 
son. 

Mother. The deuce you are ! 

Silas. No : the Deuce's grandson. 

Mother. What's your name ? 

Silas. Silas Steele, jun. I'm the little one, and dad s the 
big Steele. I'm travelling for Busted's Balm. 

Mother. Where do you expect to find it? 

Silas. 'Tis found already. And, to spread abroad the 
glorious fact, I've taken a large contract; and it's the biggest 
undertaking any undertaker ever undertook. I never real- 
ized before that there was such a strong objection to clean 



8 



THE LOST MINE. 



white paint; but Pve found it out now, for I've been per> 
pered by indignant shot-guns, pounded by angry broomstick 
booted by revengeful brogans, and bulldozed by man's faith* 
ful friends, the puppies. 

Mother. Then, you're only a pill-pedler, after all. 
Silas. A pill-pedler! great Busted ! 
Mother. You said you were a missionary. 
Silas. So I am. What nobler mission than mine to 
proclaim to a suffering world, sunk in misery by aches and 
torments, the advent of the wonderful cure-all that will eradi- 
cate the ills with which the body groans, from bald head to 
bunions? For further particulars see small bills. (Looks off* ) 
Ah! there s a bowlder I missed ; must secure that before 
*oggarty s Liniment, or some other quack nostrum, defaces 
the fair face of nature with a lie. (Goes up run, turns.) 
Good-by widow. Give tlie parson's benediction to the 
boys. (Exit.) 

Mother. Well, of all harum-scarum chaps, he's the 
tongueyist ; I couldn't get a word in edgeways. 
(Enter Vermont, r. 2 e.) 
Vermont. Little one come, widder? 
Mother. No : supper's all ready for her. 
Vermont. Stage's about due. Widder, I've a little mat- 

hlrT ^ m Fd llke t0 PaQ ° Ut af ° re the little one S ets 

Mother. About her? 

Vermont (sits on rock r.). Yes, about her. It's ten 
years, widder, since your old man passed in his checks, and 
nad a hole scooped for him out there under the hill 

Mother (sighs). Ah, yes ! 

Vermont. It was jest about that time that I dropped 
into your ranch one dark night, with a little girl in my arms. 
She might have been a five-year old — 

Mother Or six: we never could make out. She was 
burning with fever. You found her in a basket, floating in 
the creek. & 

Vermont. Exactly. That's what I told you, and I 
brought her to you because you was the only female woman 
in tne camp. 

Mother. Yes : bless her ! she brought luck with her. 
do W^W Y ™ bet8h edid. Those .little ones always 
do. Well, I read a long while ago, while prospecting in the 



THE LOST MINE. 9 

big book, — that's pay-dirt way down to bed-rock, — about 
that king pin what struck the little game " Faro," and named 
it arter hisself, how he had a darter what found a baby float- 
ing in a creek, and called it " Moses ; " and, as I warnt goin' 
back on scripter, I named our little one Moses too. 

Mother. And, as that was not a girl's name, I changed 
it to Moselle. 

Vermont. That was too Frenchy for the boys ; so they 
split the dif, and called her Mosey. 

Mother. And Mosey is just worshipped by the boys. I 
believe, if you would let them, they would cover her with 
gold. 

Vermont {rising). Likely. But, when I washed that nug- 
get outer the creek, I staked a claim in which I wanted no 
partners. Says I, " Vermont, here's a chance for you to use 
your dust, and don't you forget it." I believe the angels 
dropped one of their little sisters into the creek, to make an 
ugly old sinner ashamed of his wickedness. (Passes his arm 
across his eyes) Widder, you've been a mother to her, and 
a good one. 

Mother. And you, the best of fathers. Every year 
you've sent her off to school, and to-day she comes back 
to us — 

Vermont. With Tom Carew, our Tom, the handsomest 
and squarest miner in the diggin's. I wouldn't trust the 
bringin' of her home to any other of the boys. 

Mother. Except Dick : she's very fond of Dick. 

Vermont. Dandy Dick, as the boys call him. Oh, he's 
well enough for a short acquaintance. He's only been here 
six months, and there's something about him — Well, if 
Mosey likes him, it's all right. 

Jube (outside r.). Hi, hi ! Mudder Merton, de stage am 
come, Mosey's to hum. 
(Enter Jube, down run, with a hat-box under one arm, a 

valise in hand, followed by Win-Kye with a valise in left 

hand, an umbrella spread over his head. Jube comes 

down l., Win-Kye drops valise on platform, tumbles over 

it, and mixes himself up with the umbrella) 

Jube. Golly, see dat ar mongo ! hist yerself, hist yerself. 
Want to broke ebery bone in dat ar ambril ? 

Win-Kye (jumping up and closing umbrella). Umblillee 
spillee all ligh\ 



JO THE LOST MINE. 

Jube. Dar's a surprise party comin', Mudder Merton. 
Golly ! such a bobbycue. Smoove yer har, Vermont, smoove 
yer har, take yer boots outer yer pants; dust de cheers, mud- 
der, dust all de cheers ; dar hasn't been sich an arribal since 
■ — since the Queen ob Shebang went wisiting ole King Solo- 
man Isaacs, nebber. 

Win-Kye {puffing). Jube walkee fast, talkee fast, me no 
catchee bleath, me puffee. 

Vermont. What's the matter, Jube ? it's only our 
Mosey. 

Win-Kye. Mosey nice gaily, velly nice gaily; me chin 
chin Mosey, Mosey chin chin me ; all ligh'. 

Jube. Mosey. Yah, yah, she's come, bress her ! Jes' as 
lobely and libely as eber. Why, de boys jes' crowd roun' dat 
ar stage, and shook her han's, and she shook back, an' laff ; 
golly, how she laff ! might heard her a mile off. But dar's 
anuder. 

Mother. Another, Jube? 

Jube. Yas indeed, a rale lady; no riff-raff, but de real 
ting, de dust in de pan, jes a seraphine, hansom', oh, my ! an' 
sweet, sweet — golly! when I seed that lilly foot ob hers 
creepin' out ob der stage, it jest smashed me. 

Win-Kye. She snapee eyes, she smilee so (grins), she 
smashee me. 

Moselle {outside). Never mind me, Tom, help Agnes : 
my foot is on my native heath, my name's (appears on run) — 

All. Mosey ? 

Moselle. Yes, Mosey, Moses, Moselle, — we three. Ha, 
ha, ha! that's me. (Runs down into Mother ■ Mer'ton's arms.) 
O you dear old soul, ain't I glad I'm home ! 

Mother. 'Tis a happy day for us, darling. . 

Moselle (breaking away). Where's daddy ? 

Vermont. Right here, little one. 

Moselle (throws her arms about his neck). Here's your 
nugget, daddy. Ain't you glad to get it back? 

Vermont. Glad ? that's no name for it (holds her off). 
Let's have a look at you, — sunshine all over, and as fine as 
a fiddle in your store-clothes. 

Moselle. I'll not be in them long, daddy, so take a good 
look at them; for I'm just dying to get into my old climbing- 
suit, and away for a scamper over the rocks. Ah, Jube! 
there's lots of fun ahead. 



THE LOST MINE. II 

Jube. Yas, indeed, honey! jes' waitin' fer yer to touch it 
off. 

Moselle. Ha, ha, ha ! I'm a match for it. Ain't I, Win ? 

Win-Kye. You sclatchee match, blow high-sky, fitt ! 

Moselle (in front of Win-Kye). Oh, you queer bit of 
broken China! I'd like to set you on a shelf at school, and 
set your head a-going to please the boys. {Points forefingers 
up, and nods head a la Chinese.) 

Win-Kye {imitating her). No settee up fol the boys. 

Moselle. Ha, ha, ha ! but you must go. Ah, daddy ! 
I'm as full of mischief as I was the day I threw the powder- 
flask into your frying-pan. (All laugh.) 

Jube. Dat was rough on de ole man. 

Moselle. Jube remembers it; for, while he was helping 
daddy put a new roof on and patch up the rent, I hid his 
shovel and pick; and he couldn't find it for a week. {All 
but Jube laugh.) 

Win-Kye (points to Jube). That blakee him all uppee. 

Moselle. So look out for yourselves, old folks, young 
folks: I give you fair warning. Mind that pigtail, Win: I 
want it for my back hair. 

Win-Kye. All ligh' ! you catchee, you clippee, you 
Mosee, me mosee too. 

Tom (outside). Be careful of that rock, Miss. Give me 
your hand. Now you're all right. 

Moselle. Oh! what am I thinking of? Mother, I've 
brought you a visitor, — Miss Fairlee, one of our teachers, 
and a very dear friend of mine. 

Jube. Dat's what I tole yer, de Queen ob Shebang. 
(Tom and Agnes appear on run descending.) 

Mother. She is heartily welcome. 

Tom (on platform). You hear that, Miss, — she speaks for 
us all. A rough set we miners, rough and rugged as the soil 
in which we search for gold ; but there are many among us 
who remember homes far off, made happy by mothers, wives, 
and sisters. So have no fears. To the rude cabins that 
shelter us, to the homely fare that sustains us, and to the 
protection of strong arms, you are heartily welcome. (Leads 
her down to Mother Merton.) 

Mother (takes her hand). Indeed you are ! 

Agnes. Thank you. I fear I shall trespass on your 
kindness. But the hope of finding some trace of a very 
dear friend has induced me to accept Moselle's invitation. 



12 THE LOST MINE. 

Moselle. Agnes, you must know my daddy. {Brings 
Vermont upo..fro?n l.) Miss Fairlee, daddy ; daddy, Miss 
Fairlee. 

Vermont {bowing). Very glad to meet you. 

Agnes {offering her hand). And I am proud to know 
you. Moselle is a bright scholar : she has made many friends 
at school, but I know the warmest corner in her heart is kept 
for you. 

Vermont. Thank you, marm: if I can serve you, call 
on Vermont every time. 

Jube. An' when de ole man ain't roun', jes' look dis way. 
I's spry, and dreffel willin'. 

Win-Kye. Alle same so lookee me. 

Agnes. Thank you all. 

Mother. You must be hungry after your long ride. 
Supper's all ready. 

Moselle. Supper ! Where is it? I never was so hungry 
but once : that's now. 

Mother. This way, Miss Fairlee. {Exeunt Mother 
and Agnes into cabin.) 

Jube. Come on, Win. Tote de luggage in. {Exit into 
cabin.) 

Win-Kye. All ligh' ! Schoolee-marm some punkee. 
{Exit to cabin.) 

Moselle. Ain't she lovely, daddy ? {Goes to door, turns, 
and looks at Tom, who stands l. c. looking at door.) Tom 
{puts her hand on heart, and sighs), I'd pity you, but I'm so 
hungry. Ha, ha, ha ! {Exit.) 

(Vermont crosses, and sits on rock r., watching Tom, who 
stands with his eyes on door.) 

Tom. Lovely? Never was a more tempting bait set 
before the eyes of a hungry miner to lure him back to civ- 
ilization. Out of a world from which we have banished our- 
selves for greed of gold, she comes, gentle and refined, to 
show us the lost state of peace and happiness to which, 
though the earth unbosom its richest treasures, we hardened 
wretches can never return. 

Vermont. Tom, what yer starin' at that door for ? Ain't 
in love, air yer ? 

Tom {comes down). In love ? I never yet saw a woman 
that could bring a blush to my face. That's one of the in- 
dications, isn't it ? 



THE LOST MINE. l 3 

Vermont. Exactly. _ , 

Mother (sticking her head out of door), Tom, come and 
have some supper. (Disappears) 

Tom. No, thank yer: I'm not hungry 

Vermont. That's another indication. 

Tom. Vermont, isn't she lovely? 

Vermont. The widder ? 

Tom. The widow ! No : the other. 

Vermont. Mosey? 

Tom. Miss Fairlee/— Agnes Fairlee, — Agnes, — what 
a name ! So poetical ! Agnes, — so sweet ! 

Vermont. Spell it, Tom : there's nothing like lengthened 
sweetness long drawn out. 

Tom. Old man, you're laughing at me. You neednt. 
I'm all right. 

Vermont. Not in love ? 

Tom. Not a bit of it. ■ 

Vermont. Ain't goin' back on the comforts of lite ? 

Tom. No, old man; but when that— * 

Vermont. Agnes (smacks his lips) does taste kinder 

SW Tom. When Miss Fairlee placed her little hand in my 
arm, and looked up into my face, I felt as though I would 
like to die for her. 

Vermont. Must have been a killing look. 
Tom. And when she spoke, the queerest feeling — 
There it is again. Old man, 1 feel sick. 

{Enter Tube and Win-Kye/^w cabin.) 
Jube. Sick? Don't you do it. Dar ain't a fusycian 
widdin fourteen miles. , 

Win-Kye. Me bling pillee man velly quick. 
Vermont. All the doctor he wants is in the cabin. I om, 
you're talking like a blamed fool; but it's jest nater: when 
a woman touches the fancy of a man, it's like the wind 
amoncr the timber. The little ones sway and rustle, and 
seem "mighty tickled; but the big brawny trees groan and 
tremble as though their last day had come. Shake )Ourself 
toother, boy, jump into your hole, a good steady diet ot 
pick and shovel is a sure cure for love or bile. 
(Jerden appears on run.) 
Jerden {speaking as he comes down to stage). Morning, 
mates : where can I find one Tom Carew ? 



14 THE LOST MINE. 

Tom. I answer to that name, stranger. 
Jerden. Ah ! I'm in luck. Thev say you're the best in- 
formed miner in these parts. I'm 'looking for a man who 
came from the East, — Richard Fairlee. 
Tom. Don't know him, stranger. 

Vermont. Names don't count here. Most of us is 
baptized and rechristened when we arrive. What does he 
look like ? 
Jube. Has he got all his arms and legs, years and eyes ? 
Win-Kye. Any strawbelly marks, John ? 
Jerden. I have traced him by many aliases. How he 
looks now, I cannot say; but when he left the East he 
looked like this. 

Takes photograph from pocket-book, and hands it to Tom, 
who looks at it, Vermont, Jube, and Win-Kye crowd 
round him.) 

Tom. A good-looking fellow. I don't know him. 
Vermont. Don't belong in this camp. 
Jube. Nd? sir : dat air feller ain't got no beard, an' has 
light complex, jes' like Win-Kye. 

Win-Kye. No Chinaman ; 'Melican man plaps, Ilishman 
plaps ; no Chinaman. 
Jerden. Well, there he is ; and he's wanted by a bank. 
Tom. Robbery ? ' 

Jerden (c). Forgery, twenty thousand dollars. 

(Vermont and J vise r., Tom and Win-Kye l.) 
Tom. You're a detective ? 

Jerden. Yes. Shall I have your help in securing this 
fugitive from justice ? 

Tom {coldly). We're not man-hunters. Many a poor fel- 
low, made criminal by passion or misfortune, has drifted 
among us to be made better by a life of hardship and priva- 
tion. We ask no man's past history. If he be knave or 
fool, he shows his hand, and he is lost. Miner law is swift 
and sure. 

Vermont. You've your answer, stranger. 
Jerden. All right: I'll find my man without your help; 
but, if you should change your minds, there's a thousand dol- 
lars for the man who gives information. 

Tom and Vermont (draw revolvers, cover Jerden, and 
speak together). You get ! 

(Jerden turns, and runs up run, against Silas, who is de- 
scending.) 



THE LOST MINE. 15 

Silas. Look out for paint. {Exit Jerden.) Seems to 
be in a hurry. {Comes down to stage.) How are you, boys ? 
White black, and yellow. The widow said she had an assort- 
ment of colors, and here they are. Put up your shooting- 
irons, gentlemen: I'm a friend of the widow's. I lett my 
card here an hour ago. {Points to rock.) 

Tom. Any friend of the widow's is heartily welcome. 
Vermont. From the east, stranger? 
Silas {sets paint-pail down near rock). Switcham, Vt. 
Name, Silas Steele. Occupation, painter and decorator 
For further particulars seek any prominent bowlder, and 
look out for paint. . _ 

Jube. Golly ! dar's a heap er talent in dat ar brush, 1 
know ; fur I used to whitewash myself. _ 

(Win-Kye ed«es up to paint, examines it, takes brush, and 
daubs a little on rock during the following scene, dropping 
it and taking it up as Silas turns and watches him.) 
Silas. Whitewash yourself ? You took a big contract. 
Tom. Stopping with the widow ? 

Silas. No : only a chance acquaintance. She came irom 
Vermont. 
Vermont. So did I. 

Silas. Did you? Then, you're the man I ve been look- 
ing for. 

Vermont {starts). Eh? ■ 

Silas My old man took it into his head about twelve 
vears a^o to start west, minin' ; and we've never seen him 
from that dav to this. Nice old fellow, the deacon, but 
queer Started off without so much as a good-by, Hannah, 
and has been lost to his family, the church, and Switcham, 
ever since. But we heard from him occasionally in the 
shape of ^old-dust to mother, but no word or clew to his 
whereabouts. Mother's worried so, I've come out here to 
look him up if he's alive. Any of you know Deacon Steele ? 
Jube. Deacon who? Golly ! we's all out ob deacons : dey 
fall from grace when dey git out here. 

Vermont. You're wasting time, youngster : the deacon s 
dead and buried. 

Silas. You knew him ? 

Vermont. No : but deacons die young here. 

Tom. Perhaps 'tis Nevada. 

Vermont and Jube. Nevada ! 



l6 THE LOST MINE. 

Silas. Who's Nevada ? 

Tom. The mystery of the mines : you may meet him here 
to-day, to-morrow in some gloomy gulch, — a ragged, crazy 
miner, seeking, as he has sought for ten years, a lost mine. 

Silas. A lost mine? 

Tom (c). This was his story as I have heard it from old 
miners. He was known among them a dozen years ago, as 
a quiet, reserved man, working by himself, wandering off 
prospecting alone. At times they missed him. He had 
been off for a week, when, one night, he came in staggering, 
faint from the loss of blood, with a deep wound in his head, 
and the wild air of a maniac. From his broken speech, they 
gathered this : He had found indications of gold, had 
opened a tunnel, and worked far in, all by himself, mind, fol- 
lowing some theory of his own, when suddenly, with his pick, 
he loosened a stone above his head, which fell and crushed 
him ; not, however, until he had caught one glimpse of a 
rich vein of gold. Poor fellow, he could never find his way 
back, and none of his mates could help him. They would 
have believed his story to be but the wild speech of his wan- 
dering mind, had they not found in his tangled hair, mingled 
with dirt and blood, flakes of gold. 

Vermont. Poor old chap. 

Silas. With a gold-mine in his hair. Rich old beggar. 

Tom. Nevada is no beggar; though no cabin is shut 
against him, no miner's friendly hand withheld. He will 
neither eat nor sleep until he has earned both food and shel- 
ter. For a willing mate in an ugly tunnel, with a steady grip 
and a strong arm, give me Nevada. 

Nevada {outside). Who calls Nevada? {Dashes down 
run, and stands c. ; music pianissimo) Nevada, the gold 
king. My dominions are beneath the hills, stretching away 
in veins broad and deep, so rich that I could overturn 
empires; but I am shut out, the golden doors are closed 
against me, and the key, the key, is lost. {Puts his hand to 
head, drops his head, and comes down slozvly ; music stops.) 

Tom. Ah ! it's one of his off days. Nevada, old man, 
don't you know me ? 

Nevada {slowly raises his head, looks wildly at Tom, then 
his face brightens). Tom, Tom Carew. {They shake hands 
warmly.) You want me. Many a day we have worked to- 
gether. {Looks round) And here's Vermont. 



THE LOST MINE. 1 7 

Vermont {grasping his hand). Right here, pard. 

Nevada. Ah! old grizzly and — woolly. 

Jube. Dat's me to a har. 

Nevada. And little pigtail. 

Win-Kye. Piggee tail velly well, John; alle same you, 

Nevada. I'm hungry and tired, Tom : give me a pick. 

Tom. Not to-night, old friend : you shall go to my ranch, 
and to-morrow — , 

Nevada. To-morrow. {Looks about wildly. All draw 
away from him. Music pianissimo.) To-morrow I must go 
back/back along the ravine, three miles, then climb the 
bowlders, to where that fallen giant lies across the stream; 
over it to the gorge a mile beyond, and then -and then 
I'm lost- straight ahead to the right, to the left again and 
again, no trail, no trace; and yet 'tis there, ever before my 
e?es, the wealth of a kingdom, the jewel of Nevada, lost to 
me forever. {Covers his face with his hands.) 

Tom Ah' if we could only keep him from that lost mine. 

Silas. What a wreck ! But he's not the first man crazed 

Y Nevada. Far off, a mother and her child wait anxiously 
for my coming, -wait for the gold I promised them. I left 
the little one sleeping in her cradle. Oh ! when shall I see 
my little child again ? {Music stops.) 

{Enter, from cabin, Mosey, with a change.) 

Moselle {running to him). Now, Nevada, here I am. 
Have you, too, missed me? 

Nevada {looking into her face anxiously). I know that 
voice and that face. . 

Moselle. Of course you do. Its the same voice that 
has sang you to sleep many and many a time, and it s the 
same face you have kissed often. Why don t you now ? 

Nevada {takes her face between his hands, and kisses Her 
forehead). It's little Moselle back from school. 

Moselle. With a head full of knowledge, and a heart 
bubbling over with fun. . 

Vermont. And when the two get working together, this 
camp will be a howling wilderness, you bet. 

Moselle. Come, Nevada, mother will be glad to see you. 

Nevada. No, child: I cannot go in. ■■ ' 

Moselle. Then, I'll lead you. You shall find plenty to 



18 THE LOST MINE. 

t?rl7i hrm £ ^7 and WOod for mother 5 ^d when you are 
tired I will sing for you. y 

Nevada Sing! I'll come, Til come. I love to hear 

JT S u g ,' jMu'ic pianissimo.) She was sinking to the child 

the whole day long, -the little one sleeping" in" her cradle 

She smiled m her sleep when I stooped to kiss her, and 

int. TZ I 6V f ' ^ me ' I See Jt " n the first ^int rosy 
E£f m ^ eakln S da y> and w atch it deepen and broaden 

(Mil stojjf ^^ that m ° Cks me ' drives me mad 
Moselle Come, come, Nevada, you need rest and quiet. 
( lakes his hand, and leads him into cabin.) 

tZ A °u . YeS ; 1J r ttIe ° ne ' with >' ou ' A Music MM off.) 
1 om. He's safe for to-night. M ' 

Tvfl L , AS ' v° W 'r if S0 T e S ood Sam antan would take me in, 
Id esteem it a favor for which I will pay liberally. {Takes 
bag from his breast.) Art is my mistress; but, when I 4t 
\lTJ' i , tUr J my eye ? from her lovel y face to the ground, 
t™F v thC r6 , St ° f y0U - There ' s a ]i «le left in the bag 
1 OM. You can't pay here. s 

TnT°™ : « N °' tG ^ der f00t; but y° u shaI1 bunk with me. 
thl+Z ^thj .^ Vermont? He'll be the first stranger 
that ever saw the inside of your ranch. 

Jube. Dat's so. Swachability ain't no 'count wid him 
fry my'baco'n ^ Stmn S er: iVs J est abo »t the time I 

^f> AS /V And iC SJUStthetime 1 eat mine,-when I can 
PaiL) 6UHi Vermont and Silas r. 2 e., Silas taking 

J,l B ll G r? Ily! de idea ^ dat ole Ver ™nt takin' in a 
stranger. De meanest man in de camp. 

Tom. He's not mean with Mosey. 

Jube Dasafac'. But to cotton to a tender hoof. Gollv » 
I jes like to see him set about it. Come on, Win-Kve ■ see 
de tun. {Exit r. 2 e.) j ' 

Win-Kye. All ligh', Jube. Me likee funee too. (Exit 

R. 2 E.j v 

A^nter "Dandy Dick down run, knapsack on back.) 

let melharel "*' ** C ° m6S d ° WH) ' U there ' S any fun > 

Tom. Ah, Dick ! 

with'you? T ° m ^^ Skake kaHds)i y ° U br ° Ught the sunli S ht 



THE LOST MINE. 19 

Tom. Yes, Dick : Mosey's safe and well. 

Dick. Tom, the old hole's petered out. {Takes off knap- 
sack, and drops it near rock R. C.) I've dug and panned for 
a week, and not an ounce of dust. 

Tom. That's bad ; but better luck next time. 

Dick Luck ! Not while you hold to such an unlucky 
partner as I. Tom Carew, I never met a man I so much 
admired as I do you. When I dropped into this camp, a 
stranger, without a penny, you took me by the hand, let me 
in to your claim, an equal partner, — the best paying claim 
in the camp, — till I struck it; since then we haven t panned 
enough to pay for bacon. It's my infernal luck. I wouldn t 
care for myself, but to blast your prospects of a rich find — 

Tom. Hold on, Dick. You complain of bad luck, — you 
whom Moselle loves. 

Dick. That's another matter. 

Tom. Right. The pure ore of a loving heart is not to 
be compared to the glittering lie we take to ourselves with 
which to purchase happiness. The one purines and ennobles 
its possessor, the other too often drags us down to the dust 
from which we filch it. 

Dick. Sentimental, Tom? Why, what's come over 

y °ToM. A woman. No, an angel. Dick, the sweetest 
woman you ever set eyes on. 

Dick. That's Moselle. 

Tom. Oh, you're blind ! 

Dick. And you expect me to see through your eyes i 
Well, who is this paragon ? 

Tom. Moselle's friend, who came home with her to-cla>. 
I have only met her once. She is all grace and beauty, and, 
I'll swear/as good as she is beautiful. If I could only win 
her, Dick. 

Dick. Well, what's to prevent ? 

Tom. I am only a poor miner, and she — - 

Dick. A poor judge of manhood, if she takes you at 
your own valuation. Send her to me: I'll tell her, that if 
she wants a warm heart, a determined spirit, and a courageous 
arm, she will find them in Tom Carew, who, in those virtues, 
stands head and shoulders above all the miners of Nevada. 
I suppose that is her picture you are nursing so carefully in 
your belt. 



20 THE LOST MINE. 

Tom. No : that is a poor devil whom a detective is track- 
ing. 

Dick. Ah ! let's have a look at him. {Takes picture?) 

Tom. A detective was here an hour ago ; but it's not one 
of our boys. {Turns away to l.) 

Dick {looks at picture, starts, but instantly recovers him- 
self as Tom turns). No: he's none of us. 

Tom. Not a bad face ? 

Dick. No, but a weak one. A good subject for some 
designing villain to make a victim of. {Hands it back, Tom 
replaces it in belt.) 

(Moselle runs on from cabin.) 

Moselle. Now for a run. 

Dick. Right into my arms. 

Moselle {runs into his arms). Why, Dick, I never 
thought of seeing you. 

Dick. But you're glad to see me again? 

Moselle. O Dick! you know I'd rather meet you than 
any other here {sees Tom, draws away from Dick, and casts 
down her eyes), except Tom. 

Tom. Humbug ! 

Moselle. And Tom is lost to me. Poor Tom ! He's 
discovered a wonderful nugget. It's in our cabin now ; and 
Tom is so worried that he's been watching the door ever 
since it was deposited there, for fear some one should steal 
it. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Tom. I was only waiting till you should appear to keep 
Dick company. Now I'm off. {Goes to R. 2 E.) 

Moselle. Don't be gone long, Tom, we shall be so 
lonesome without you. 

Tom. Oh, have your little love-feast! I'll be back in 
time. 

Moselle. In time for what ? 

Tom. To count the spoons. {Exit R. 2 E.) 

Moselle. Now, what does he mean by that? 

Dick. I'm sure I don't know, unless he expects you and 
I to — 

Moselle {holding up her finger threateningly). Beware ! 

Dick. Exactly. Beware silver ware, spoons. {Puts ar?n 
about her waist.) 

Moselle {slips away). Oh, drop the spoons ! 

Dick. But you dropped my arm. 



THE LOST MINE. 21 



Moselle. I like freedom. 

Dick. Then, why do you run away from me ? 

Moselle. To catch my breath. Freedom is a virtue. 
You make it a vice. 

Dick. Ah ! but remember, I haven t seen you for three 
months.' Think of the lonely hours without you. 

Moselle. Think of my lonely hours over those horrid 
studies, — geography, history, arithmetic ! One and one are 

Dick {again slipping his arm about her waist). No : one 
and one are one. . 

Moselle. You're wrong, Dick: one and one are still 
one and {slips away) one. 

Dick. Moselle, I'm afraid you'll never be won. 

Moselle. Not by arithmetic. I hate figures. 

Dick. I admire yours. A ■ 

Moselle. Do you, Dick ? What ! in these rags ? Ah ! 
you should see me in regimentals. 

Dick. Regimentals ? 

Moselle. Yes : silks and satins, kids and laces, as 
Madam Ferule turns us out for inspection. 

Dick. I should like that. 

Moselle. 1 hate it. Give me a gown like this, that 
shows the honorable tears of contact with briers and rocks; 
a pair of boots like these, that won't slip on the bark of 
tr ees, — and I'm just jolly. I can run, climb, fly. And here 
I am wasting time. I can stand still no longer. 1 m oft 
{files up run) : catch me if you can. 

Dick. Moselle! 

Mosellk {stops and turns). Well, Dick ? 

Dick. Good-by. In a few moments I shall have left the 
camp. 

Moselle {coming down). Left the camp ! why t 

Dick. That is my secret ; you may hear bad report of 
me, may be told to shun me, taught to despise me; but, 
Moselle, believe me, I love you, and will one day ask you to 
be mv wife. 

Moselle. Your wife! Dick, who are you ? 
Dick. Still Dick, or Dandy Dick as the boys style me: 
the other, an honored name, must still be withheld, even 
from you. You see, I am frank with you. 
Moselle. Frank ! you tell me nothing. 



22 THE LOST MINE. 

Dick. Exactly; but I love you. 

Moselle. You needn't have told me: I knew it long 
ago. 

Dick. And I may hope ? 

Moselle. Yes, on one condition. 

Dick. Name it. 

Moselle {darting up run). That you catch me before I 
reach the big bowlder. 

Dick. Catch me losing you. (Exit up run.) 
(Enter Tom r. 2 e.) 

Tom. Dick, where's my knife ? (Looks round.) Gone ! 
The cabin is upside down, no hatchet, no knife ; nice house- 
keeper to leave when one goes a journey. There's his pack, 
and I want my knife ; so, Master Dick, by your leave — 
(Picks up pack, arid is at work on the strap j enter Agnes 
from cabin.) 

Agnes. I wonder what keeps Moselle. 

Tom (rises, and removes his hat). Miss Fairlee ! 

Agnes. O Mr. Carew ! the very man I was thinking of. 

Tom. Were you? That's odd — no, even — for 1 was 
thinking of you : in fact, I've done little else but think of you. 
(Confused, takes up pack.) No: I don't mean that — con- 
found this strap ! — you see, my partner has left every thing 
in confusion : he's no housekeeper. 

Agnes. Did you ever know a man that was? You need 
a wife, Mr. Carew. 

Tom. I know it: that's the reason I was thinking of you. 

Agnes (laughs). You're the tenth miner who has said 
the same thing to me within a month. 

Tom. Only ten ? well, it's been a pretty bad month. 

Agnes. I hope not. 

Tom. Yes : the boys are off in their holes. Wait a few 
days, and the air will be black with matrimonial speculators. 

Agnes. Then, I think I'd better be leaving. 

Tom. Good fellows, too, who will make their advances 
timidly, and feel relieved when they are put out of their mis- 
ery by a refusal. 

Agnes. All of them ? 

Tom (dropping pack). No : for here and there among 
miners, as among men in every station, you will find one 
who looks upon women as pure gold; as something to be 
approached with reverence, and, if won, to be enshrined in 
the devotion of a life. 



THE LOST MINE. 23 

Agnes. Such men are scarce. 

Tom. And such women plenty, but they don't come this 
way often. 

Agnes. Did ever such a woman cross your path ? 

Tom. {sighs). In my dreams. 

Agnes {laughs). A visionary woman. Do you see her 
often ? 

Tom. As often as I see you. 

Agnes {turns away confused. Aside). This must go no 
farther. {Aloud.) Mr. Carew, would you do me a service? 

Tom. Willingly. 

Agnes. A very dear friend, one to whom I am in duty 
bound, has left his home and friends. I have reason to be- 
lieve he is in this part of the country. Will you help me 
find him ? 

Tom {agitated). Very dear to you ? 

Agnes {casting down her eyes). Yes. 

Tom {after a struggle). His name ? 

Agnes. I cannot tell you that : I cannot even give you 
the name by which he is known. 

Tom. Then, how am I to discover him ? 

Agnes. You have my name : go among the miners, tell 
them of me and my quest. He will hear of me, and, in spite 
of dangers that beset him, will find some way to meet me. 

Tom. You set me a hard task. 

Agnes. But you will make the attempt ? O Mr. Carew ! 
if you could look into that once happy home, now desolate 
by the absence of a son, for whom a fond mother is slowly 
but surely breaking her heart, a loving sister mourning, and 
I — I would give the world to reclaim ! {Weeps.) 

Tom. He shall be found. I'll seek him. Your name 
shall be the spell to conjure him from his hiding-place, were 
he in the deepest mine of Nevada. 

Agnes. Oh, thanks, thanks ! I knew that in you I should 
find a friend, a helper. 

Tom {bitterly). Rare confidence, when you have known 
me but a day. 

Agnes. Longer than that. Your brave acts, the generous 
promptings of your true and noble heart, have been morning 
lessons to me for many a day. 

Tom. You speak in riddles. Where have you heard 
aught of me ? 



24 THE LOST MINE. 

Agnes. From Moselle, who believes, were she in danger, 
you would never forsake her. From her eloquent thankful- 
ness of heart, I was led to hope that I, too, might find a 
champion in you. 

Tom. Thank you. You were right. I will serve you 
faithfully. 

Agnes {giving him her hand). Thank you. (Looks into 
his face, then casts down her eyes, and slowly exits into 
cabin.) 

Tom (stands looking after her, then looks at the hand she 
took, then sighs). " One who is very dear to me." She said 
that, — said it calmly, never dreaming of the crushing force 
with which those words fell. One very — He is her lover, 
perhaps her husband. And I — I love her. (Sighs.) Well, 
old boy, you've struck a blind lead this time. No pay-dirt 
here ; and yet, I'll swear there was something in those sweet 
eyes of hers. (Sighs.) I must forget her. I'll quit the 
camp, get far away, and then — no, I have promised to serve 
her, and I'll do it. Bring him to her arms. (Sighs) Not a 
pleasant task ; but I'll do it, I'll do it. (Goes to pack.) Now 
for my knife. (Opens pack, pulls out blanket.) There's no 
knife here. (Unrolls blanket. Sitting on rock, photograph 
drops out.) What's this? A picture! (Looks at it, rises.) 
It's Agnes, Agnes Fairlee; and he, Dick, is the runaway, her 
lover, perhaps her husband, Fairlee? (Pulls other picture 
from belt.) Why, this (looks at it closely) is Dick. Put a 
beard on that face, and 'tis Dick the forger. I sha'n't have 
to go far to find him; and he and I both love the same 
woman. One word to that detective, he is in prison and she 
is free. Well, I must be pretty far gone to harbor such a 
thought. Betray my partner, the man with whom I have 
eaten and slept, dug and quarried ? No, no, not for so bright 
a pair of eyes as yours, Agnes Fairlee. 

Dick (outside). Moselle, where are you? 

Moselle (laughing). Ha, ha, ha ! Seek and find, seek 
and find. 

Tom. Ah ! I had forgotten our Moselle. She loves him ; 
and he, villain that he is, has trifled with her. She must be 
protected, saved, though justice overtake him. (Darts up 
run) 

(Enter Jube, r. 2 e.) 

Jube. Say, Tom, Thomas, whar's de fire? Say! so he's 



THE LOST MINE. 2$ 

off- yas, so's ole Vermont. Nebber did see sich carrin's on 
in de 'hole course ob my life. Jes took dat ar tender hoot, 
de whitewashes into his cabin, gib him de best cheer, — on 
d e fl oor _de best china, den fill him up wid bacon, chock up 
to de muzzle: den tender hoof was tired — too much bacon- 
laid down on de bench, an' went to sleep, ole man settin dar 
watchin' him. Bym-by de ole man get up sofly, git a blankit, 
kivers him up, tucks him in. Seed it all fro a crack. Ole 
man jes clean gone on dat ar tender hoof. 

{Enter Mother, from cabin.) 
Mother. Jube, where's Moselle? 
Jube. Oh, she's in anoder scrape. 

Mother. What kind of a scrape? . ' 

Jube. Candy-scrape, I guess. She an' Dandy Dick havin 
a sweet time up dar onto de rocks. 

Moselle {coming down run). O mother, mother. 
(Throws her arms about Mother's neck.) 
Mother. Why, what's the matter, child? 
Moselle. Don't ask me. Look there. .._..•.. 
(Enter down run, Dick, his hands fastened behind him, 
head down, followed by Jerden, with a pistol in his hand.) 
Terden. Attempt escape, and you are a aead man. 
(Dick comes slowly down, goes r., and sits on rock. J erden 
stands beside him.) 

Tube. By golly, he's took ! 

(Enter Vermont, r. 2 e.) 
Vermont. Who's took ? 

Tube. Dandy Dick. He's de twenty fousan feller 
Vermont. Ah ! we've a traitor in the camp. Who has 
done this ? (Crosses to L ) 

Tom (descends run). Tom Carew. 

Vermont. You, Tom? (Levels pistol.) Then, take 

1 Moselle (throws herself before Tom). No, daddy, not 
Tom. O Tom ! why have vou done this ? 

Tom. For your sake, little one : he has deceived you. 
Dick. 'Tis false ! 

(Enter Agnes, from cabin.) 
Agnes., Who's that ? Ah ! (Runs across stage, and falls 
on Dick's neck.) Richard! 
Dick. Agnes! 
Tom. Look there, Moselle. (Points to Dick.) 



26 THE LOST MINE. 

Moselle. No, no! {Throws herself into Vermont's 

arms.) O daddy, my heart is breaking ! 

(Curtain on Picture. — Tom c, points to Dick. Agnes 
kneeling, her arms about Dick's neck. Jerden behind 
them. Jube L. C, scratching his head. Mother at door 
l., her hands clasped, looking at Dick. Vermont with 
Moselle's arms about his neck l.) 



THE LOST MINE. 2J 



Act II. — Interior of Vermont's cabin of rough logs, door 
c, window with swinging shutter l. c. mountain, wood 
and rocks as in Act I. ; fireplace R., with fire; stool near. 
Table l. c, with stools R. and L. of it. Bench R., near 
first entrance, on which Dick is discovered asleep, covered 
with a blanket. Jerden sitting R. of table watching 
Dick; Win-Kye at window, looking in ; candle burning 
on table. Lights down. • 

Win-Kye. All ligh' ! Catchee man, and man he catchee : 
all ligh'. Jube he say 'Win-Kye watchee catchee man; 
no let catchee man kille man he catchee.' Gollee ! me 
pleceman : all ligh'. 

Jerden. How he sleeps ! No wonder, poor devil ! 
These miners are any thing but sociable, when the officers 
of the law are to be entertained. Every cabin shut against 
us. Fortunately old Vermont took himself off to-night; and 
I've taken possession, no doubt to be turned out on his 
return. This beard's mighty uncomfortable. {Takes off 
beard, and lays it on table.) 

Win-Kye. Ki, yi ! Catchee man shabee click, no soapee, 
no lazor. 

Jerden. He little dreams who his captor is. Curse him ! 
he stood between me and the dearest wish of my life ; but I 
have him now. A rare streak of luck. I forged the check 
he bungled with. Like a fool, he cut and run. That was 
all right, for had he faced the music it might have been hot 
for me ; but she, Agnes Fairlee, she, too, disappeared. I had 
risked all for nothing. But as Jerden, the detective, I have 
tracked him, and found her. Now let me get him away 
from here : she will follow, and then — (Dick moves) Ah ! 
{Hastily replaces beard.) 

Win-Kye. Catchee man flaid he catchee cold. Sh! 
schoolemarm-. Me hoppee stick. {Ru?is by door, and exit 

R.) 



28 THE LOST MINE. 



Jerden (rises). Ah ! who's there ? 

(Enter, past window through door, Agnes.) 

Agnes (at door). May I speak with your prisoner? 

Jerden (bows). I hate to refuse a lady ; but my orders 
are, to let none communicate with him until he is placed in 
jail. 

Agnes. In jail ? 

Jerden. Still, as you seem to be a very dear friend of 
his — 

Agnes. You will grant my request? 

Jerden. If you will give me your word he shall not 
escape. 

Agnes. You will leave us alone ? 

Jerden. Certainly. 

Agnes. I give you my pledge he shall not escape. 

Jerden (goes uft). Then, I will retire — out of hearing, 
but not out of sight. My eyes will still be upon him ; and, if 
he attempts flight, a well-aimed bullet shall be the signal for 
my return. (Exit past window off^L.) 

(Agnes looks after hi?}t, then comes down, and taps Dick on 
shoulder) 

Agnes. Richard ! 

Dick (starting up). No, no, Moselle, 'tis false, false. 
(Rubs his eyes) Ah ! Agnes, is it you ? 

Agnes. Yes, Richard. How can you sleep at such a 
time ? 

Dick. At such a time? It is the first real rest I have 
had for a year. Agnes, if you had skulked and hid as I 
have, if you had started from sleep at every sound, had 
trembled at the approach of every stranger, had feared an 
enemy would spring from every bush you passed, you would 
know what a blessed relief it is to feel that all is over. 

Agnes (sits on stool r. of table). Then, why did you fly 
from justice ? 

Dick. Because I was a coward. Afraid to face that 
same justice, and so have suffered more torments than even 
her sternest sentence would have inflicted. Now I am 
going back to face her, and proclaim my innocence. 

Agnes. Your innocence ? 

Dick. Have you ever doubted it? 

Agnes. Yes. Your strange flight, your silence for a 
year, the circumstances — 



THE LOST MINE. 29 

Dick. Were all against me. Agnes, I am suffering for 
the crime of another. You knew him, — Stephen Corliss. 

Agnes. Your friend ? 

Dick. So he called himself. You know how we became 
acquainted. He was a friend of the junior partner of the 
firm of Gordon, Green, & Co., by whom I was employed. 
He took a fancy to me, invited me to his rooms, insisted on 
my being his companion in drives, to the theatres, and in 
other amusements. It was at his request that I brought 
him home, and introduced him to you. 

Agnes. I never liked him : I told you his companion- 
ship would do you no good. 

Dick. You did. One day he asked me to step round to 
the bank, and cash a check made in his favor by Gordon, 
Green, & Co. It was for twenty thousand dollars. I was 
not surprised at the amount ; as I knew he was considered a 
man of wealth, and had large dealings with the concern. I 
laughingly asked him if he was not afraid to trust me with 
so farge an amount, to which he replied, " No : if you are not 
afraid to draw it." I went to the bank, agreeing to meet him 
at his rooms with the money. On presenting it at the bank, 
the teller looked at the check suspiciously, and took it to the 
cashier. One of the clerks whispered to me, " Look out for 
yourself, Dick, that check's a forgery." Forgery ! I started 
at the word : to me it had always been a horror. I left the 
bank, not knowing what I was doing. I flew to Corliss's 
rooms : the door was locked, and on it a placard, " Gone to 
Europe." I turned and ran, that word " forgery " burning 
into my brain, through the city, out into country, as if pursued 
by tormenting fiends. A fever attacked me; and, when I 
recovered, I found myself in the hands of strangers. Then 
commenced my wanderings, which have ended here where 
they should have begun, — in capture. 

Agnes. Have you never communicated with your em- 
ployers, avowed your innocence ? 

Dick. Never. 

Agnes. Why, Richard, you have acted like a madman ! 

Dick. Haven't I ? Perhaps the word " Fool " would be 
better. How easily I might have cleared myself. How — 
Oh, well! I'm not the first man who has been wrecked on 
the reefs of " Might have been." 

Agnes. But this man's motive ? Why did he act thus ? 



30 THE LOST MINE. 

Dick. Because he loved you. I was in the way. 

Agnes. Loved me ? Then, through that love I can save 
you. 

Dick. Perhaps you can, but you shall not. I'll take my 
chances with the law. 

Agnes. I shall return with you. 

Dick. No : you must stay here in the charge of a friend, 
the only man I can trust, — Tom Carew. 

Agnes. He your friend ? Why, he betrayed you ! 

Dick. So he did : I forgot that. But then, he put me 
out of my misery, so we'll forgive him. 

Agnes. You may, but I, never. I had begun to like 
your friend. (Tom appears at window^) I thought him 
good and noble : I find him base and treacherous. I hate 
this Tom Carew. {Crosses to l.) 

Tom {aside). If you don't, you're not the woman I thought 
you. 

Dick. Oh ! Tom's a good fellow, only just now he's in 
love. 

{Enter Tom, door c.) 

Tom {to Agnes). If he had no other excuse than that, 
he would be what you just now styled him, — base and 
treacherous. 

Agnes. Have you not proved yourself so, betrayed your 
friend, deceived me? 

Tom. Deceived you? 

Agnes. Did you not promise to seek him I sought, to 
bring him to me? How have you kept your word? By 
betraying him to the man from whom 1 sought to save him. 
Is this a token of your boasted regard for mothers, wives, 
and sisters ? 

Tom. Hear me before you condemn. In these wild 
lands is a tender flower, gladdening the hearts of rough 
miners by its fragrance and beauty. From its coming it has 
been fondly cherished and tenderly cared for. Yesterday it 
was trampled in the dust by one who knew the fearful wrong 
he was committing. 

Dick. Ah ! The flower is Moselle. 

Tom. And the despoiler you. That fact known among 
the miners, your life would answer for it; but, knowing there 
was one to whom you were very dear, for her sake I checked 
the first promptings of vengeance, and gave you into the 
hands of justice. 



THE LOST MINE. 3 1 

Dick. To save me from Judge Lynch. I see. 

Tom. Whose sentence you richly deserve. 

Dick. Don't be too sure of that. 

Tom. Now, having saved you from Judge Lynch, it is 
your turn to save yourself from the detective. My horse is 
tied outside. Take yourself off. 

Agnes. No, you must not attempt escape: his eyes are 
upon you. A movement, and he will shoot. 

Moselle (outside). Ha, ha, ha! (Rjuis in door,, c.) 
Shoot ! I guess not, when he's strapped to a tree. Hear 
him holler. 

Jerden {in the distance). Help ! Help ! 

Dick. Moselle, what does this mean ? 

Moselle. Fun! I told you I was all ready for it; and 
so, while Tom held the "catchee man," as Win calls him, I 
gave him the benefit of a rope. 

Dick. Hung him ? 

Moselle. Ha, ha, ha ! No, only quartered him — under 
a tree. 

Tom. Now, Dick, off with you. Here's my dust (offers 
bag), and the horse will carry two. 

Dick. Not your dust, Tom. I'm to have a companion: 
who is it? 

Tom (with a glance at Agnes). Can you ask ? 

Dick. I can. Moselle, will you go with me ? 

Moselle. Me? 

Tom (seizes Moselle and places her behind him). Do 
you dare, before (points to Agnes) the one who has come 
miles to reclaim you ? You know where your duty lies. 
Take her (takes Agnes by the hand, and leads her up to 
Dick), and away ! 

Dick. What ! Run off with my own sister ? 

Tom (staggering back to window). Sister ? 

Moselle. His sister! Ain't this jolly! O Dick! 
(Runs into his arms.) I'm just dying for a run. 

Dick. Then, off we go. (Exit door c, with arm about 
Moselle.) 

Tom. His sister ! (Agnes sits l. of table, throws her 
arms on table, face on her arms.) Well, Tom Carew, you've 
struck bed-rock now, and no mistake. His sister; and there 
she is, grieving, because he's gone. (Comes dow?i R.) And 
she hates me. " I had just begun to like your friend." Hang 



32 THE LOST MINE. 

it ! and I, like a blamed mule, have kicked over the pan, and 
scattered the dust. (Sits r. of table, puts his arms on it, 
looks at Agnes a moment, then puts his face down on his 
arms. Agnes looks up, smiling.) 

Agnes (aside). He is a good fellow: only, as Dick says, 
he's in love. (Tom raises his head. She quickly drofs hers, 
as before) 

Tom. I wish I could say something to comfort her ; but 
no: she hates me. (Drops as before. She raises her head.) 

Agnes. How nobly he has acted, good fellow ! Better 
than that, — he's noble ! (Tom moves. She drops her head. 
After a pause, both heads raised at the same time.) 

Agnes (smiling). Have you been dreaming, Mr. Carew ? 

Tom. I wish I had. 

Agnes. Dreaming of "the tender flower that gladdened 
the hearts of the rough miners," or of "the visionary- 
woman"? 

' Tom. Whom I see when I look at you. And you hate 
me. 

Agnes. No ! I admire you. 

Tom (rising). Miss Fairlee ! 

Agnes (rising). You have saved my brother from a hor- 
rible death. You have offered him the means of escape. 

Tom. He will escape : my horse is swift. 

Agnes. No ! He is innocent of crime, so will not make 
the attempt. He is probably now in the hands of the de- 
tective. 

Tom. But he went with Moselle. 

Agnes. Yes, to free the detective. 

Tom. Well, I've blundered again. And you are his sis- 
ter. I never dreamed of that. Ah, if I had a sister ! 

Agnes. You would be very fond of her ? 

Tom. Indeed I should. 

Agnes. Well, as you have none, and you are Dick's part- 
ner, why shouldn't you be fond of his sister? 

Tom. Miss Fairlee! Agnes! — May I call you Agnes? 

Agnes. Dick does, and you are his partner. 

Tom. Agnes, I love you. 

Agnes. And I love — 

Tom (holding out his hands). Well ? 

Agnes. To have you love me. (Walks into his arms) 

Tom (clasping). Oh, I've found a nugget! 



THE LOST MINE. 33 

{Enter Moselle, c.) 

Moselle. .Lucky Tom. How much does it weigh? 
(Ag^es and Tou separate.) What are you doing with my 
teacher, Tom? Has she set you conjugating? I Jove — 
you love — or do you both love? I guess it you d had as 
much of that as I had, you'd want a vacation. 

Tom. Well, we've been considering Dick's case. 

Moselle. And Dick's settled his case by giving himself 
up to the detective, whom he mag-nan-i-mously — that's a big 
word : hope I got it right — set free from the tree ; and here 

they are. 

(Enter Dick and Jerden.) 

Jerden (approaching Tom threateningly). So, you are 
the one with whom I am to settle. 

Tom. Yes : I'm the one (presenting pistol), and here s 
the other. 

Jerden (retreating). Take care : that might go off. 

Tom. I 'm afraid it will, if you don't. Hark you, stranger ! 
I crave Dick up under a mistake ; and I'm afraid, that, when 
the boys find it out, you'll have hard work to get away. So, 
what's your figger? 

Jerden. I don't understand you. 

Tom No? And you call yourself a detective. When 
banks send out detectives, they want the rogue and the 
money. When they cant have both, they'll take one. You 
can't have Dick ; so, what's the figger ? 

Jerden. Twenty thousand dollars. ; t 

Tom. Twenty! Look here, stranger, ain't you settin it 
a leetle high ? There's not so much money in the whole 

camD 

Jerden (aside). So I thought. He's mine. (Aloud.) 
That's the sum. If you can't pay it, I take my man. 

Tom. Never. . 

Dick. Oh, yes, he will ! I'm a little anxious to get East, 
and he'll pay the travelling expenses. # # 

Tom. Well, you are a cool one ; but you just wait until 
I can wake up some of the boys. I shouldn't wonder — 

No, no. Twenty — «..,,■•- 

Agnes (to Tom). Don't interfere, Tom : Dick s innocent. 
Tom. All right, if you say so. t 

Agnes. Moselle, we must go. Dick, will you walk with 

me ? I've something particular to say to you. 



34 



THE LOST MINE. 



Dick. If Mr. Jerden makes no objection. 

Jerden. All right. I'll follow. 

Dick. Of course. {Gives arm to Agnes, and goes to 
door) 

Agnes. Good-night, Tom. 

Tom. Good-night, Agnes. 

Dick. Agnes! Tom, you haven't — 

Tom. Oh, yes, I have! Rich find. A nugget, Dick. 
She's mine. 

Moselle. Yes, 

Jerden {aside). 



I caught them mineing. 



Dick 

Ah ! I have a rival here. 

Dick. Tom, old boy, it's glorious: you were made for 
each other. {Exit with Agnes, door c.) 

Moselle. Tom, hunt up daddy : he's lots of dust. 

Jerden. Miss Moselle, shall I attend you ? 

Moselle. You? 

Tom. No : Moselle goes with me. 

Moselle. No, Tom, you look out for daddy. Come, 
Mr. Jerden, I'm your prisoner. 

Jerden {offers arm). Prisoner? 

Moselle {taking his arm). Why »ot? One good turn 
deserves another : you were mine a little while ago, now I 
am yours : ha, ha, ha ! how you did struggle to escape ! 

Jerden. Ah ! that was clever. Do you know, I would 
like to present you with something for that? 

Moselle. With what, pray ? 

Jerden. Something ladies are fond of. 

Moselle. Oh, do tell me quick ! 

Jerden {showing handcuffs). Bracelets. 

Moselle. Mercy ! come along. {Exeunt c.) 

Tom. Twenty — oh, it's no use to think of it; 
and will find a way to save him ! 

{Nevada passes window and enters door c.) 

Nevada {excitedly). Tom Carew, Tom, quick, rouse the 
boys : I've found it! 

Tom. The mine ? 

Nevada. Yes, yes ! 

Tom. Glory ! Dick's free. Yes, Nevada, you've found it 
where, where ? 

Nevada. Hush, not so loud; we must be secret, secret: 
while I was asleep it all came to me. 

Tom. Yes. 



but I must 



THE LOST MINE. 35 

Nevada. I saw the narrow path my feet had made in 
many journeys to it, I saw the tunnel I had dug into the 
earth, the rocks I had blasted, — I can go straight to it. 
And then I saw, Tom, I saw an open vein of running gold, 
pouring out broad and deep. I dabbled my hands in it, 
dashed it over my head, and then — 

Tom. O heavens ! 'tis only his madness. 

Nevada. I woke. 

Tom. To find it but a dream. 

Nevada. Yes, yes; but there's luck in dreams, and I 
shall find it. (Shivers.) I'm cold : may I sit by the fire ? 

Tom. Yes, Nevada. 

Nevada (goes and sits by fire rubbing his hands and 
wanning them). I like this, I like to sit before a fire : I can 
see faces in the fire, — her's and the little one. See the tall 
flame back there ; that's her face, but oh so haggard and pale ! 
She thinks I will never come; and. see, there's a bright little 
flame dancing up towards her, just as the little child used 
to climb up into her lap ; and there's the little one's face now, 
and her little fingers beckoning to me. Yes, yes, I'll come, 
I'll come, with the gold to make us all happy. 

Tom. Poor old fellow ! 
(Enter past window through door c, Silas, his coat torn, 

his hat out of shape, his clothes and face daubed with 

dirt; paint-pot in his hand. Singing), — 
Out of the wilderness, 
Out of the wilderness, 
Ain't I glad I'm out of the wilderness. 

In the classic vernacular of this benighted region, " you bet." 
Oh for a bottle of Busted's Balm! I'm sore from crown 
to heel. (Drops pail near door r.) 

Tom. Well, stranger, I should say you'd been having a 
rough and tumble with a grizzly. 

Silas. Wrong, stranger. Grizzly and I have been hav- 
ing a "go as you please," and I'm several laps ahead. 

Tom. Where did you strike him? 

Silas. Strike him ! Do you s'pose I'm such a fool as to 
tackle a grizzly with his war-paint on ? I struck for home : I 
never had such a longing for the dearest spot on earth in all 
my life. You see, stranger, I started out to do a little em- 
balming for the balm : your friend Vermont's hospitality and 
bacon had made it necessary for me to take a little exer- 



36 THE LOST MINE. 

cise. Well, I took a long constitutional, practising a little 
here and there with the brush, until I espied away up a 
bowlder, — such a bowlder for a six-sheet poster ! — that 
seemed to offer uncommon facilities for the display of the 
pronunciamento. 

Tom. The what ? 

Silas. Oh ! that staggers you, does it ? Well, that's high 
jinks for the balm. It was the wildest spot I ever scrambled 
through, the hardest climb I ever attempted ; but I reached 
it, spread the balm in gigantic letters, and was just putting 
a stop to it, when the earth gave way, and down I went. I 
didn't have time to take out my watch, but I should think it 
was about an hour before I stopped dropping. When I did, 
I found I was underground, evidently in a deserted mine. I 
might have taken an observation ; but an ugly growl in the 
interior convinced me that the inhabitant of that sequestered 
spot was not at home for company, so I came out. A little 
too hurriedly for good manners, perhaps, but with a celerity 
that astonished me, if it didn't the grizzly. (Sits on bench.) 
Whew ! such a run ! Excuse me, stranger, if I stretch out 
a A bit. (Lies on bench.) I've had enough of the balm (yawns) 
for one day, now I'm going in for a little of the balmy 
(yawns) sleep. Stop a bit. (Raises himself.) Must look 
out for the dust. (Takes bag from his breast, and places it 
under his head. Yawns.) Such a tramp (yawns) along the 
ravine, three miles. (Nevada, who has been crouching look- 
ing into the fire, raises his head, and looks at Silas.) Then 
over the bowlders to where the big tree lies across (yawns) 
across the creek. (Nevada rises, and approaches stealthily?) 
Across it to the gorge, beyond (yawns), a good mile. (Ne- 
vada still nearer, agitated, glaring at Silas. Tom seated r. 
of 'table watches him.) And then to the right (yawns) ; no, 
to the — (Yawns and sleeps.) 

Nevada. He's found it! (About to rush upon Silas, 
Tom steps before him; they struggle, and Tom forces him 
back to door.) 

Tom. Madman, what would you do ? 

Nevada (in door). Kill him. He has struck the trail. 
He would rob me of my treasures, but I'll be before him. 
Let him dare to meet me there ; let him attempt to enter, 
and he shall find old Nevada a giant defending his own. 
His river of gold ! ha, ha ! The old man has not lost his 



THE LOST MINE. 37 

cunning nor his strength. {Shaking his fist at Silas.) Be- 
ware of him ! {Exit c.) 

Tom. Off again as wild as ever. {Comes down, and 
looks at Silas.) Another moment, and he'd have been at 
his throat. What could have moved him so ? 

Silas {moves). Along the ravine — 

Tom {starts back). Ah ! that old story. How often have 
we heard it ! Nevada's oft-told story in this stranger's mouth. 
Has he in truth, as Nevada said, struck the trail that leads 
to the lost mine ? Has he found the clew to the mystery of 
years ? If he has, 'tis marked, and should be found. There's 
a fortune for him who strikes it. A fortune would set Dick 
free, and make Agnes my wife. So, Tom Carew, for love 
and friendship try your luck, and — 

Silas {moves and mutters). Look out for paint. 

Tom. Right, stranger. Where you left your mark, I'll 
look for gold. {Exit c. and ojfL. Vermont passes win- 
dow, and stops in door looking after Tom.) 

Vermont. Tom Carew, I reckon, scootin' away like a 
cotton-tailed rabbit. Outer my ranch, too. {Comes down.) 
Can't find a trace of that tender foot : he's shook me clean. 
{Sees Silas.) Thar he is. {Sits R. of table) Blamed it 
the chap ain't been underground. He's struck dirt, and it 
sticks to him. {Places elbow on knee, chin on hand, and 
watches Silas. Jure appears at window.) 

Jube. Golly ! dat ole man means mischief. He's jes' 
been trailin' arter dat ar tender hoof. What's de cunun- 
drum? what he want? Go slow, ole man, I's watchin'. 

Win-Kye {stealthily sticking his head in at door). Paintee 
man sleepee, Vellemontee watchee, Win-Kye alle samee. 

Vermont. Sleepin' jest like a little kid, dreaming of the 
old mother way down East. Well I remember the time 
when the old boys, young then, used to think of the old 
folks, and long for the time to come when they should get 
fixed up with dust, and go home. How we did dream ! and 
what a sorter lonesome feelin' would come over us, and 
then we'd get careless. They seemed so far away, till news 
would come that somebody we knew had passed in his 
checks, and was farther, farther away. {Draws his sleeve 
across his eyes) 

Jube. Golly ! de ole man's crying. See de weeps ! See 
de weeps ! 



38 THE LOST MINE. 

Vermont. Tender foot shall go back well fixed. I've 
been watching for a chance, and now's the time. {Rises and 
looks about cautiously. Jube and Win-Kye disappear. 
Vermont creeps toward Silas. Jube and Win-Kye re- 
appear as before.) 

Jube. What's de racket ? 

Vermont. His bag of dust is under his head. I must 
have it. {Creeps nearer, and places his hand on bag.) 

Jube. Gwine to rob him? It's all out. Can't stan' dat. 
Whar's dat rebolber? {points revolver at Vermont) ain't 
goin' to be no foo' in dis yer camp. 

Win-Kye {sees paint-pot near door). Paintee man, blushee 
all light. Me paintee too. {Takes brush, smells of it, makes 
a wry face.) Smelle stlong. Smelle kelosenee. (Vermont 
pulls bag away) 

Jube. Buglery, buglery ! but I's got de bead on him ; 
jes' wait till he stows it away. (Vermont, on one knee, 
takes a bag from his breast.) 

Jube. Dat's de game : take out ob whosen's bag, and put 
in^hisen ; but — but I got de bead on him. (Vermont opens 
Silas's bag, and pours dust from his bag into it.) 

Jube. What's dat ? Dar's some mistook. But I got de 
bead on him. 

Win-Kye {with brush creeps under the window). Me 
paintee, Jube, whitee, all ligh'. (Vermont puts back his 
bag, then about to restore the other under Silas's head; as 
he touches him, Silas springs up. Vermont rises to his 
feet) 

Silas {seizing him). Ah ! would you ? {They wrestle ; 
and, with a trip, Silas throws him back on stool r. of table, 
his back against table, draws a revolver from his hip-pocket, 
and points it at his head) Yours for health. 

Jube. Now, tangle hoof jes' spoiled de fun, but he's got 
de bead. 

Vermont. Don't shoot : I'm your dad. 

Silas. My dad ? 

Jube. Golly ! de ole man's a fader. Ought to be 
ashamed ob hisself. 

Win-Kye. Jubee! {Crouching, sticks brush straight 
above his head) 

Jube. Well, was de matter? {Leans down, Win-Kye 
thrusts the brush into his face) 



THE LOST MINE. 39 

Win-Kye. Lookee out for paintee. (Jube starts back 

with a yell quick.) 

(Curtain on Picture. — Jube grasping the window-sill 
with both hands, his face contorted, and streaked with 
paint. Win-Kye grinning. Vermont on stool, pressed 
back against table by _ Silas's hand on his throat, with 
pistol pointed, looking'into each other's faces) 



40 THE LOST MINE. 



Act III. — Same as Act I. — Win-Kye enters down run, 
carrying paint-pail in one hand, brush in other. 

Win-Kye. Ole man talkee, painteeman talkee : aU ligh', 
Win-Kye walkee, cally pail, inside he mouth he plenty cly, 
"lookee out fol paint." Painteeman, Chinaman, alle same. 

Jube {appearing on run). Win, you imp ob sin, you, you 
Shanghi, you jes' brung back dat ar whitewash. 

Win-Kye. All ligh', Jubee, me bling 'em back, in the 
sweetee bymby. 

Jube {comes down). Look yere, you Celestial imp, quit 
yer fool ! dis year ain't no time for mischievity ; dis year am 
a solem' occasion ; de ole man's found his long forgotten 
chile, — his lost offsprung, — an' — an' you've run off wid 
der baby's playthings. 

Win-Kye. Muchee solly, baby cly. Supposee you sing 
him, — 

" Littee Jack Horner 
Makee sit inside corner, 

Chow-chow he Clismas pie. 
He put inside tu'm, 
Hab catchee one plum. 

Hi, yah ! what one good chilo my ! " 

Jube. Golly ! hear dat Chineesers infusions ob potrey. 
Dat all comes ob his contraot wid art. Win-Kye, gib me 
dem ar 'tensils. 

Win-Kye. Me paintee locks, me paintee tlees, all samee 
so. {Points at sign on rock.) " Washee, washee." {Exit 

I E. R.) 

Jube. See him hoof it. Dis years de melencolic effect 
ob tryin' to turn a mongo into a Sambo. I's jes' tried to 
cibilize dat ar heathen, to gib him a brack heart; an' he no 
sooner gits a hold ob a paint-brush, off he goes, like ole 
Nebacanoozer, on a tear. 



THE LOST MINE. 41 

{Enter Moselle, from cabin.) * 

Moselle. Jube, have you seen my daddy? 

Jube. Seen your what ? Golly, Mosey, you took my bref 
away ! Seen him ! Well, I guess, Mosey, dar was a yearth- 
quake jes' flopped ober dis year camp las' night: seed it, 
seed it, felt de shock fro my physical cistern ; an' I guess 
de ole man is scourin' round to kill a fatted calf or a mule. 

Moselle. What are you talking about, Jube ? 

Jube. Mosey, brace yerself: be a man. De Book ob 
Rebelation am open. AbigaFs son am returned. 

Moselle. Who's son ? 

Jube. Abigal's son. Don't you know what de good 
Book says ? 

Moselle. The prodigal son, Jube. 

Jube. What's de dif ? what's de dif ? Dat gal's son am 
returned to his fadder's buzzum ; and you're shook. You 
may cry, " Hi, daddy ! ho, daddy ! " but dar am no daddy. 

Moselle. Jube, tell me, quick, what has happened to 
daddy ? 

Jube. I'll tole yer all about it. Las' night I went down 
to de ole man's ranch on perticlar business. Well, de ole 
man was down dar, I was down dar, Win was down dar, 
an' — an' somebody else was down dar. Now, you know de 
ole man dat was down dar ; you know me dat was down dar ; 
you know Win dat was down dar; but — but you can't guess 
who dat somebody else was, dat was down dar, to dat ar 
ranch down dar. 

Moselle. Why should I guess who was down dar, when 
you are so anxious to tell me ? 

Jube. Well, I tole yer. 

(Enter Vermont, r. 2 e.) 

Vermont. At your peril, Jube. 

Moselle. O daddy, here you are ! (Crosses from l. to 
r.) I was about to hear something dreadful about you. 

Jube. Yas, indeed. I was jes' breakin' to "her, genteel, 
de mournful tidin's. 

Vermont. I'll break your head if you say another word. 
You git. 

Jube. Yas ; but I got her all braced. I can finish in just 
free minutes. You see, I was down dar — 

Vermont. If you're not up there in less than three 
minutes — (Puts hand behind him.) 



42 THE LOST MINE. 

Jube (runs up stage). Don't you do it, don't you do it. 
I was only goin-to say dat, dat somebody else down dar — 

Vermont. Start. 

Jube. Was Abigal's son. (Dashes up run, and off.) 

Moselle. Ha, ha, ha! Poor Jube! He missed his 
chance by stopping too long "down dar." Now, daddy, 
what's the matter? where's the "yearthquake " struck? 

Vermont. That's some of the darkey's nonsense. 

Moselle. Now, daddy, that's a fib. Look me in the 
eye. No. Stop ! If it's any thing I should know, you will 
tell me : you've always been so good to me. 

Vermont. Well, never mind me. What have they done 
with Dandy Dick, the forger? 

Moselle. He's no forger. He's as innocent of crime 
as you are. O daddy ! I want some money. 

Vermont. All right, little one. (Pulls out bag.) What's 
the rigger ? 

Moselle. It's rather high. 

Vermont. Never mind : the bank's open. 

Moselle. Twenty thousand dollars. 

Vermont. Twenty! Bank's broke. (Puts back bag.) 
We ain't struck no diamond mine lately, and nuggets are 
scarce. Couldn't you make a little discount ? 

Moselle. O daddy! twenty thousand dollars will set 
Dick free. 

Vermont. Free ! Not an ounce of dust comes out of 
my bag for him. He's played you a mean trick; and, if the 
detective don't take him off, I will. Why, Mosey, I thought 
you had more spirit. 

Moselle. I love him, daddy. 

Vermont. And he with another gal hanging round his 
neck. 

Moselle. Why, daddy, she's his sister ! 

Vermont. What ! (Aside.) Another prodigal ! This 
camp's getting lively. (Aloud.) His sister. That's another 
sort. 

Moselle. And you will find the money ? 

Vermont. Find twenty thousand? Oh, yes, Mosey! I'll 
take my pick, and go right off. As finds are about here, it 
may take a few years — 

Moselle. Years ! We must have it to-day. O daddy, 
you've plenty banked at Carson ! 



THE LOST MINE. 43 

Vermont. Mosey, when you was a little gal, we used to 
sit down by the creek. 

Moselle. Where you found me, longer ago than I can 
remember. T 

Vermont. We used to sit there day after day, while 1 

told you stories. 

Moselle. Yes, fairy stories. 
Vermont {sits on rock, r.). I'll tell you one now. 
Moselle (sits on the ground beside him, throws arm 
across his knee). A fairy story ? 

Vermont. I reckon. Once on a time there was a gospel 
shebang, and in it was a gospel sharp and a pan lifter. 

Moselle. You mean a church, a parson, and a deacon r 
Vermont. That's just what I mean. % 

Moselle. Then, please remember, you are talking to a 
young lady, and not to the boys. 

Vermont. Jes' so. Well, the parson and the deacon 
didn't hitch horses, — couldn't work in the same hole — 
were always flinging dirt all over each other, whenever they 
got to aro-uincr. So one dav they had it hot about wrest- 
ling Jacob & and the angel. The deacon thought Jacob didn't 
have a fair show. He allowed that Jacob, at collar and 
elbow, would have thrown the angel every round ; and the 
parson got mad, and told the deacon if he'd step behind the 
she — church, he'd show him the angel's trip. The deacon 
wa'n't to be stumped at wrastlin', so at it they went. T hree 
rounds, and the deacon went to grass every time. Now, 
when a parson can throw a deacon, it shows a backslidin 
that's not healthy. So the deacon thought, and quietly 
packed his kit, and started for green fields and pasters new, 
leaving behind a wife and kids. Well, he struck jest about 
such a place as this, and stuck to it twelve years. He didn't 
forget the folks at home. Both his heart and his dust went 
back to 'em, and sometimes he'd have given all his old 
boots for one look at 'em. 

Moselle. Why didn't he go back ? 
Vermont. What! With that wrastlin' angel bossing 
the shebang ? Not for Jacob. 

Moselle. Ho, ho ! You are the deacon. 
Vermont. I was. Now I'm only Vermont. 
Moselle. And my daddy. < 

Vermont. Last night I wrastled again. I was thrown, 
and by a boy — my kid — from old Vermont. 



44 THE LOST MINE. 

Moselle. Your son ? 

Vermont. You bet. 

Moselle. Oh, daddy ! ain't you glad ? 

Vermont. Glad ! Why, Mosey, he's got the angel trip, 
by which the parson threw me. 

Moselle. But ain't you glad he's found you ? It must 
be so good to hear news from home. 

Vermont. Well, Mosey, you keep quiet : I don't want 
the boys to know he's my son. I've told you — 

Moselle. A fairy story. I understand. 

Vermont. Jes' so. A fairy story, without the fairy. 

Moselle {rising). Oh ! you're the fairy, for you are 
always doing good. But where is he ? I must see him. 

Vermont. In my ranch. 

Moselle. I'll just run down and have a peep at him, — 
the boy who threw the deacon — no, the fairy. Ha, ha, ha ! 
{Runs offK.2 E.) 

Vermont. I reckon I'm a healthy old fairy. 
{Enter Mother, from cabin) 

Mother. Where's Moselle ? 

Vermont. She's just run down to have a look at the 
kid — 

Mother. A look at what ? 

Vermont {aside). Hang it ! There's a slip for the fairy. 
{Aloud.) She's just run down to my ranch. She'll be back 
in a minute. Widder, you believe that story about the creek 
and Mosey? 

Mother. Certainly. 

Vermont. Don't believe it any longer: it's a blamed lie. 

Mother. Vermont ! 

Vermont. That's me, and here's the truth. I was dig- 
gin' in Goblin Gulch in them days ; and one night a woman, 
with a child in her arms, came to my ranch. Poor thing! 
she was all used up with tramping. She was looking for a 
miner, — her husband, she said. She told me his name ; and 
when she found I didn't know him, she jest dropped on the 
ground, and died there. I was alone with a dead woman 
and a live child, and not another soul within five miles. 
Well, widder, I was skeered. If I was found with them, as 
likely as not I'd been lynched for murder. So I jest buried 
the mother, and brought the child to you. 

Widow. What was the name of her husband ? 



THE LOST MINE. 45 

Vermont. Widder, that's the mischief. Blame my old 
wooden head, I couldn't remember. That's why 1 brought 
Mosey to you with a lie. If I'd told the truth, that would 
have been the first question you'd have asked me. If I 
could only remember that, — if 'i could only hear it again. 

Mother. That would be a clew to Moselle's parentage. 

Vermont. It will come to me some day. Till then, the 
little one has a daddy in old Vermont. 

Mother. And a mother in me. 

Vermont {holds out hand). Widder, put it there. {They 
shake hands.) I've heard tell of some wimmen that banked 
all their affections in one buzzum, and, when the proprietor 
of that bank went prospecting among the stars, kept gather- 
ing the same kind of gold-dust for the final deposit. I 
reckon, widder, you're one of that kind. And when you jine 
your pardner, Tom Merton, pure ore will be scarce in 
Nevada. 

Mother. Ah, Vermont, what a pity you're a bachelor ! 
You'd make such a good father. 

Vermont {confused). Weil, yes, jes' so. {Aside.) What 
will she say when she sees the kid ? 

Mother. And such a good husband ! When I look at 
you, it seems as if I had my clear old man back again. Poor 
Tom ! {Puts apron to her eyes.) 

Vermont {looks at her, scratches his head). Poor old 
gal ! {Puts arm around her waist.) Cheer up, widder : it's 
only a little while, and you'll hear his voice calling — 

Silas {appearing on run). Say, dad, where's my paint- 
pot? 

Vermont. The kid ! {Runs off r. 2 e. Mother 
screams, and runs into cabin.) 

(Silas comes down, iooks after Mother, then after Ver- 
mont.) 

Silas. For further particulars see small bills. After so 
recent reminders of his connubial relations, it strikes me 
that the deacon is a little giddy, and the sooner he is re- 
turned to the bosom of his family, the better. 
{Enter Moselle, r. 2 e.) 

Moselle. There was no one there. {Sees Silas.) Hallo, 
medicine man ! Where's daddy ? 

Silas. My daddy? 

Moselle. No: mine, — Vermont. 



46 THE LOST MINE. 

Silas {aside). Her daddy ! Great heavings ! The dea- 
con's a Mormon ! {Aloud.) So, Vermont is your daddy? 

Moselle. Why, certainly. Didn't you know that ? 

Silas. Well, no. I haven't examined the family records 
lately. Who's your mammy ? 

Moselle. Mother Merton. 

Silas. Murder! 

Moselle. What's the matter ? 

Silas. That accounts for it. 

Moselle. Accounts for what ? 

Silas. The very affecting embrace of an aged Romeo 
and a mature Juliet. I just now interrupted a tight squeeze, 
in which your mammy was the squeezeed, and your daddy the 
squeezor. 

Moselle. You saw that? Ha, ha, ha! Won't the boys 
be tickled ! 

Silas. Boys ! Do you mean to say there are boys too ? 

Moselle. Why, certainly, lots of them. 

Silas {aside). Great Scott ! There'll be music in the 
air, with an anvil chorus thrown in, when daddy goes march- 
ing home. {Aloud.) But where do I come in? 

Moselle. You? 

Silas. Yes. For if Vermont is your daddy, and Mother 
Merton your mammy, and Deacon Steele is my father, and 
Hannah Steele is my mother, I must belong somewhere 
among the boys — of the old boy. 

Moselle. Why, you must be the kid — Abigal's son. 
Ha, ha, ha ! 

Silas. Abigal! {Aside) What! Another family spring- 
ing up ! Oh, this is too much ! Hannah Steele's young 
ones — Mother Merton's boys — Abigal's kid. The old 
Turk ! I must get the old man home. 

Moselle. So you're the boy that threw his father? 

Silas. Threw him! Why, he's floored me! 

Moselle. I'm real glad you've found him, he's so lone- 
some sometimes. And daddy's got a big heart that would 
take the whole world in. 

Silas {aside). He seems to have taken in a pretty big 
slice of the better half already. 

Moselle. Now, you must have great influence with 
daddy, and you must help me free Dick. 

Silas. Who's Dick? 



THE LOST MINE. 47 

Moselle. One of the boys. ''■■',-.- T 

Silas {aside). Thought so. {Aloud.) Well, how can I 
help you free brother Dick ? 

Moselle. Bv inducing daddy to find the money. 

Silas. Oh ! Dick's in a scrape? 

Moselle. Yes; and twenty thousand dollars will set 
him free. Daddy has it. 

Silas {aside). So daddy's a big bonanza, as well as a Dig- 

Moselle. You see, Dick's accused of forgery; but he's 
innocent. A detective has secured him, and will take him 
back to-dav, unless the money is found to reimburse the 
bank with 'what Richard Fairlee is supposed to have de- 
frauded it. ,, , 

Silas. Richard Fairlee? I've heard that name before. 

Moselle. Alice Fairlee's brother. 

Silas («.«<&). Heavings ! Another tribe. Richard! — 

Ah ! 1 have it. .,,.,. i ? \ 

(£///*r Win-Kye, r. i e., w*/// /<w «»</ brush.) 
Win-Kye. All time walkee, paintee tlee, paintee lock — 
Silas Ah, the thief! Give me that paint. {Runs at 

Win-Kye, with outstretched arm. Win-Kye runs under it, 

and up C.) „ ,. , , <m \* 

Win-Kye. Not muchee. My can go all ligh'. Mehcan 
man chin-chin girly. Chinaman look out for paintee. {Exit 

SILAS Stop, I say! He's off, and I'm after him. {Runs 
up and turns.) I'll look out for Dick by and by. Just now 
I must look out for paint. {Exit.) 

Moselle. Ha, ha, ha ! you'll have a long chase. 
{Enter Agnes, from cabin.) 

Agnes. Moselle, how can you laugh when this very day 
Dick leaves us ? 

Moselle. He's not gone yet; and just as surely as I 
believe in his innocence, just so sure am I that something 
will prevent his departure. Tom Carew has not been seen 
this morning, and he's not the man to desert a friend. De- 
pend upon it, he is working for his release from that horrid 

detective. 

{Enter Jerden,/;w;/ cabin.) 
Jerden. Meaning me. Thanks for your complimentary 
notice, and a thousand thanks for the hospitality which has 



48 THE LOST MINE. 

given my prisoner and myself a good night's rest and a 
hearty breakfast. {Crosses to R.) Mr. Fairlee is packing 
up, and in a few moments you will be rid of us. 

Moselle. Dick packing up ? I'll stop that. {Exit into 
cabin) 

Jerden. Miss Fairlee, you accompany your brother, of 
course ? 

Agnes. No, sir ; at his request I remain here. 

Jerden. You remain ? impossible ! You will not suffer 
your brother to meet his trial without you by his side to 
comfort him ? 

Agnes. If he wishes it, yes. 

Jerden. But this is unnatural, heartless — 

Agnes. Sir? 

Jerden. I beg your pardon ; but your presence in New 
York would aid him greatly in establishing his innocence. 

Agnes. Ah ! you believe he is innocent ? 

Jerden. Return with us, and I will prove him so. 

Agnes. Who are you ? 

Jerden. One who has long loved you, — who, though a 
detective, has wealth and power to set your brother free, and 
surround you with every luxury. 

Agnes. Why, this is madness. I know you not but as 
one to be despised, a man-hunter and a thief-taker. 

Jerden. Nay, but I can explain — 

Agnes. Nothing to satisfy me fhat you are not a base 
wretch seeking to profit by the anxiety of a sister. I 
remain here. 

Jerden. Go you must and shall, even if I have to arrest 
you as the accomplice of your brother. 

Agnes. You would not dare. I have only to raise my 
voice, to bring to my side a score of manly fellows, who 
would swing you from a tree, and free your prisoner. Here 
law is justice, and war on women a crime. 

Jerden. And yet I dare. Your flight so soon after your 
brother, your being found here together, are strong proof of 
your complicity in the crime. 

Agnes. Another word, and I call. 

(Jube creeps on from R. 2 e.) 

Jerden {seizes her wrist). Silence, or — {Puts his hand 
round to his hip. Jube creeps close to him, and, as his hand 
comes round, pulls pistol out of Jerden's pockety and puts 
it over his shoulder, pointing to his nosei) 



THE LOST MINE. 49 

Jube. Was you lookin' fer dis yer, boss ? 

Jerden {backing to c). Fool ! give me that pistol. 

Jube. Yas, indeed, when Gabriel blows his trumpet in de 
mornin', but not dis year morning. (Shouts.) Dandy Dick, 
dandy Dick, now's yer chance : hoof it, hoof it ! 

(Enter Dick from cabin, followed by Moselle.) 

Dick. What's the matter, Jube ? 

Jube. Got de bead on de detect. Now's yer chance : 
hoof it. 

Dick (crosses to Jube, and takes the pistol). Enough of 
this. I go with Jerden. (Gives pistol to Jerden.) Take 
your pistol. I might change my mind, and then you would 
need it. 

Jube. Dat's jes' fool business. Put your mouf right 
into der lion's head. 

Jerden. 'Tis time we were moving. 

Dick. All right ! I'll be ready in a moment. (Crosses to 
L.) Good-by, Moselle. 

Moselle (throwing her arms about his neck). No, no: 
you must not. Where's daddy? where's Tom? Call the 
boys, Jube. 

(Enter Vermont r. 2 e.) 

Vermont. What's the trouble, little one ? 

Moselle (crossing to him). O daddy ! you will not let 
Dick be carried to prison ? 

Vermont. How am I to help it ? 

Moselle. The money, daddy! 

Vermont. What! twenty thou — No. No: I'd wil- 
lingly chip in. 

Jube. Yas, indeed, we'll all chip in. 

Vermont. But we can't raise that amount of dust. 
(Tom comes down run with a rusty old pickaxe on his 

shoulder, and a piece of canvas grasped by four corners 

in his right hand.) 

Tom. Then, call on me. (Stops on platform.) 

Moselle. Tom! 

Tom. Dick, you're free. Look there! (Throws canvas 
down on stage : it opens, showing a mass of dirt, and nuggets 
of gold.) 

Dick. Gold ! 

Jube (runs up, and picks up a nugget). Look at dar, 
look at dar ! 



50 THE LOST MINE. 

Vermont. What have you struck, Tom ? 

Tom. What for ten long years has been to us a legend, — 
the lost mine of Nevada. See ! here's the very pick he left 
in the hole. Detective, I cover your offer, and take your 
man. 

Jerden. Not with stolen gold. 

Tom {comes down l.). Stolen ? 

Jerden. Ay, stolen. You have jumped another man's 
claim. For proof, you bring his pick left in the mine. Its 
owner still lives. 

Tom. Yes ; and here he is (Nevada comes down run 
slowly), the richest miner in all Nevada. 

Nevada (on platform). That's me, boys, that's me ; but 
it's all locked up. Ah ! if I could only find the key. You 
should dig no more, boys. You should live in palaces, dine 
off gold. Ah, gold, gold! Shall I — (Sees gold on stage.) 
What's that ? 

Tom. That's fruit, — golden fruit, dug right out of your 
garden, Nevada. Your mine is found. 

Nevada. No, no: I've been up the ravine three miles — 

Tom. So have I. 

Vermont. Then climbed the bowlders — 

Tom. To where the giant lies across the stream — 

Nevada. Over it to the gorge a mile beyond ; then to 
the right — to the left, and, and — 

Tom. There's where you missed it. Had you turned 
back five rods, you would have found a clump of bushes 
hiding the gorge below, and there lifting your eyes, you 
would have seen on a bowlder high up, a sign — 
(Enter on run, Silas.) 

Silas. Busted's Balm, you bet ! 

Tom. Right, stranger. You gave me the clew. Where 
you fell, there is the old mine. Do you hear, Nevada? your 
mine. 

Nevada. My mine, my — Now, Tom, don't trifle with 
the old man. You could not have found what I all these 
years have sought in vain. No, no. 

Tom. Nevada, do you know this ? (Showing pick.) 

Nevada (takes pick). Why, Tom, Tom, this is mine, — 
my old pick ! Where did you find it ? 

Tom. Where you left it. Old man, look at me. Did I 
ever deceive you ? 



THE LOST MINE. 51 

Nevada. It is my old pick {hugs it), and that's my gold. 
{Comes down.) Let me touch it. (Tom takes up a nugget, 
and hands it to him.) Ah, I feel it now, the gold for which 
I slaved ! Ah ! you have embittered my life, rich as you are. 
You might have blessed me had you come sooner ; but now, 
now {throws down the gold), O Tom, Tom ! I'd give it all 
for one sight of the wife and little one. {Sobs, and falls on 
Tom's neek.) 

Tom. Ah, tears ! that's good : he's all right. Take him 
in, Mosey. (Moselle leads Nevada into cabin.) Now, 
you wait, Jerden, and you'll find the old man ready to treat 
with you for Dick's freedom. 

Jerden. I decline to treat with him or you. I shall take 
my prisoner, Richard Fairlee. 

Silas {comes down). What name ? 

Jerden. Richard Fairlee, forger. 

Silas. Ah, forger! I thought I knew something about 
him. 

Jerden. Well, what do you know? 

Silas. That he is innocent. For further particulars — 
Where's my paint? 

Win-Kye {outside). Heap gone uppee. {Enters down 
run, handle of pail in his hand, paifit on his face and on his 
dress.) Paintee lock, grizzley stick urn head out, wantee 
paint too, snatchee pail, me scootee. {Holds up handle) 
Savem piecee. 

Silas. Ah! {Snatches handle.) You've saved enough. 
{Tears paper from handle.) Here it is. 

All. What ? 

Silas. The latest add of the balm— {All groan) I'll 
give you a dose. Listen ! {Reads.) " Wonderful discovery. 
The firm of Gorden, Green, & Co. have obtained convin- 
cing proof that the forgery perpetrated a year ago was not 
the act of their clerk, Richard Fairlee, but was a shrewd 
plot concocted by one Stephen Corliss, for the ruin of that 
young man." 

Dick. The truth at last ! 

Agnes {takes his hand). Good news, brother ! 

Jerden {aside). Discovered. 

Silas. Hold on : there's something more. {Reads.) 
" Remarkable as this is, it is nothing compared to the won- 
derful discovery, Busted's Balm." {General groan) "For 
further particulars see " — 



52 THE LOST MINE. 

Win-Kye. Topside locks, all ligh', John. 

Silas. Mr. Fairlee, you've had a close shave. 

Win-Kye. Catchee man close shabe too. No lazor, no 
soapee : see ! {With a quick movement snatches beard from 
Jerden.) 

Dick. Stephen Corliss ! 

Agnes. That man ! 

Jerden. Yes, that man. Agnes Fairlee, to win you I 
have plotted. I have failed, and now await my sentence. 

Tom. I told you miner law was swift and sure. (Jube 
creeps up run, and crouches behind masking rocks) 

Jerden. I understand, — a rope, a tree, and murder. 
{Draws pistol) Not for me. ( Dashes up run. Jube rises 
before him.) 

Jube {wrests pistol from him). Dis is a private way, 
dangerous passing. 

Jerden. Curse the luck! {Turns, and runs ofh. behind 
cabin.) 

Vermont. Not that way, man. 

Tom. The ledge ! the ledge ! 

Jube. Don't you do it. Ah ! he's gone ober de ledge, 
down three hundred feet. Good-by, detect ! {Comes down) 

Agnes. What a horrible fate ! 

Tom. Better that than the tree. 

Vermont {comes a, and takes up pick). This is the pick 
that opened Nevada's bonanza. Why, it's little better than 
— What's this ? a name cut into it? {Looks at it closely) 
Ah {drops it agitated), widder, widder! {Enter Mother 
from cabin) 

Mother. What is it, Vermont ? 

Vermont {seizes her by wrist, and leads her R.). Widder, 
it's come, it's come. My old head couldn't strike it, but 
Tom has, — the name. 

Widow. What name ? 

Vermont. A name long forgotten, but now brought to 
light, — John Murdock. 

{Enter Nevada from cabin followed by Moselle.) 

Nevada. Who called my name ? 

Vermont. Your wife. 

Nevada. My wife? 

Vermont. Yes : at the door of my ranch in Goblin 
Gulch ten years ago, searching for you, with her child in her 
arms. 



THE LOST MINE. 53 

Nevada. My wife ? where is she ? 

Vermont {takes off his hat). In heaven. 

Nevada {covers his face). My poor wife. 

Vermont. She couldn't find her husband, so she went 
home to her father. But the child — 

Nevada. Ah, the child ! my little Lisa. 

Vermont {aside). Lisa! Now, there's a name; and I 
went and called her Moses. 

Moselle. Lisa, Lisa! Why, somebody called me by 
that name long, long ago. 

Nevada. No : that was my child's name. 

Vermont. Right, Nevada: your child left in my arms ; 
your child that has been tenderly cared for, who is the luck 
of this camp. {Crosses, and takes Moselle's hand.) 

Tom and Jube. Our Mosey ! 

Vermont. Is — 

Nevada. My child ! 

Vermont. Lisa Murdock. {Passes her to c.) 

Moselle. My father, you — 

Nevada {clasping her in his arms). Mine, mine at last. 

Vermont {crosses to Mother). Widder ! 

Mother. Vermont! {They fall into each other's arms) 

Silas {astonished). Deacon Steele ! (Vermont, in con- 
fusion, drops the Widow; Tom, Dick, Agnes, Jube, and 
Wtn-Kye go c, and shake hands with Nevada and 
Moselle. Silas beckons Vermont down c.) 

Silas. Ain't you rather going it with the widow? 

Vermont. What do you mean ? 

Silas. Well, you see, I'm not used to the customs of 
this part of the country; and I don't know how to break it 
to mother. 

Vermont. Break what ? 

Silas. This new departure of yours. By the way, how 
many have you ? 

Vermont. How many what ? 

Silas. Well, it's rather a delicate question for a son to 
ask his father; but how many wives have you? 

Vermont. Silas Steele, are you mad? One, — your 
mother. 

Silas. Oh ! then the widow and Abigail and the boys 
and the kid — 

Vermont. Well, what of them ? 



54 THE LOST MINE. 

Silas. Are they relatives of yours ? 

Vermont. I have but one relative in this part of the 
country, and he seems to be little better than a fool. 

Silas. Mother says he takes after his dad. {Aside.) I 
guess the old gent's all fight, after all. 

Vermont. Look here, Silas. {Leads hint down c.) 
Where did you learn that trip by which you threw me last 
night ? 

Silas. Oh ! from Parson Bunker. Remember the par- 
son, don't you ? 

Vermont {aside). I thought so, — the wrestling angel. 
. Silas. Cold day for him when he gave that away, for I 
threw him every time after that. 

Vermont {excited). What ! you threw the parson ? 

Silas. Just as easy as I laid you. 

Vermont {excitedly shakes his hand). Silas, I'm proud 
of you. Look here, widder, Nevada, Tom, everybody, this 
is my son from Vermont. Look at him: he can throw the 
parson, the wrestling angel. Look at him. 

Mother. Your son? then, you are married ? 

Vermont. Well, I hope so. I'm going home to see 
Hannah, and make up with the parson, after I've had a shy 
at his shins with the angel trip. 

Moselle. And leave me, daddy ? 

Vermont. Ah, little one, that will be hard ! but Nevada 
has jumped my claim with a prior claim. In you he's found 
his child. 

Nevada. Yours and mine, Vermont. You must never 
forget, that, when I deserted her for love of gold, you took 
her to your heart. 

Vermont. I couldn't help it. Blamed if the little thing 
didn't crawl right in, and nestle, as if she belonged there. 

Moselle. And it was such a warm nest, I hope I shall 
never be turned out of.it. 

Vermont. Never, you bet. 

Nevada. You shall go home well fixed. The old mine 
shall be made to give up its treasures. Henceforth it shall 
be known as the Carew and Murdock mine. 

Tom. No, no, Nevada: I have no right — 

Nevada {takes his hand). We must be partners; for 
what I lost, you found. In our good fortune all shall share. 

Dick {takes Moselle's hand). Then, I'll take mine 
here. 



THE LOST MINE. 55 

Nevada. And rob me of the jewel I prize the most? 

Moselle. Not rob, father, only give it a new setting. 

Dick. In my heart. 

Tom. You can trust him, Nevada; and he's had such 
bad luck, he deserves a nugget. 

Moselle. Thank you, Tom. One of these days I'll 
speak a good word for you with his sister. 

Tom. Do I need it, Agnes ? 

Agnes (gives her hand). Not with me, Tom. 

Jube (r.). Golly ! see 'em parin' off. Nex' couple, slami- 
nade. Say, tender hoof, whar's your pardner ? 

Silas (r.). There don't seem enough to go round ; but 
I'm on the lookout — 

Win-Kye. Lookee out for paint. See small billies. All 
ligh'. 

Vermont {points to gold). Nevada, shall I gather up the 
dust for you ? 

Nevada. No: scatter it among the boys. It is dust, 
indeed, no longer to be prized by me, but for the richer 
treasure it has disclosed (to Moselle), — you, my darling. 
{Puts arm about Moselle.) 

Moselle. O father, the clouds are lifting! You are 
coming out of the darkness. 

Nevada. Yes, little one ; and in the new light of your 
eyes, I see tokens of the wealth I abandoned for a phantom. 
In you I find — 

Vermont (takes Nevada's hand). A nugget, you bet ! 

Nevada. Yes, the jewel of my lost mine. 

SITUATIONS. 

Nevada c, clasping Moselle with left arm, his right 
hand in that of Vermont. Mother next Vermont r., 
Silas r., Jube extre?ne r. ; Dick next Moselle l., Tom 
and Agnes l., Win-Kye extreme l. 

Curtain. 



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In Four Acts. 

Better Than Gold. 7 male, 4 female 
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Our Folks. 6 male, 5 female char. . . 15 
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My Brother's Keeper. 5 male, 3 fe- 
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The Little Drown Jug, 5 male, 3 
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In Two Acts. 
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One Hundred Years Ago. 7 male, 

4 female char. 15 

Among -the Breakers. 6 male, 4 female 

char 15 

Bread on the Waters. 5 male, 3 female 

char. 15 

Down by the Sea. 6 male, 3 female 

char 15 

Once on a Time. 4 male, 2 female char. 15 
The Last Loaf. 5 male, 3 female char. 13 

hi One Act. 
Stand by the Flag. 5 male char. <. . 15 
The Tempter. 3 male, 1 female char. 15 

COMEDIES AND FAUCES. 

A Mysterious Disappearance. 4 

male, 3 female char 15 

Paddle Tour Own Canoe. 7 male, 

3 female char 15 

A Drop too Much. 4 male, 2 female 

characters 15 

A. IMtle More Cider. 5 male, 3 fe- 
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A Thorn Among the Roses. 2 male, 6 
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Never Say Die. 3 male, 3 female char. 15 

Seeing the Elephant. 6 male, 3 female 
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The Boston Dip. 4 male, 3 female char. 

The Duchess of Dublin. 6 male, 4 fe- 
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Thirty Minutes for Refreshments. 

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We're all Teetotalers. 4 male, 2 fe- 
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A Close Shave. 6 char. . . . 
A Public Benefactor. 6 char. . 
A Sea of Troubles. 8 char. . . 



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A Tender Attachment. 7 char. ... 15 

Coals of Fire. 6 char. , 15 

Freedom of the Press. 8 char. ... 15 

Shall Our Mothers Vote ? n char. 15 

Gentlemen of the Jury 12 char. » . 15 

Humors of the Strike. 8 char. . . 15 

My Uncle the Captain. 6 char. . . 15 

New Brooms Sweep Clean. 6 char. . 15 

The Great Elixir. 9 char 15 

The Hypochondriac. 5 char 15 

The Man with the Demijohn. 4 

char. . . 15 

The Runaways. 4 char 15 

The Thief of Time. 6 char. . . . 15 
Wanted, a Male Cook. 4 char. , . .15 

Female Characters Only. 

A Love of a Bonnet. 5 char. . . 15 

A Precious Pickle. 6 char. .... 15 

No Cure no Pay. 7 char 15 

The Champion of Her Sex. 8 char. . 15 

The Greatest Plague in Life. 8cha. 15 

The Grecian Bend. 7 char 15 

The Red Chignon. 6 char. .... 15 

Using the Weed. 7 char. 15 

ALLEGORIES. 

Arranged for Music and Tableaux. 

Lightheakt's Pilgrimage. 8 female 
char 15 

The Revolt of the Bees. 9 female 
char. 15 

The Sculptor's Triumph, i male, 4 fe- 
male chav 15 

The Tournament of Idylcourt. io- 
female char 1$ 

Thf ^Yar of the Roses. 8 female char. 15 

MUSICAL AND DRAMATIC. 

An Original Idea, i male, 1 female 
char, 15 

Bonbons ; or, the Paint King. 6 male, 
1 female char 25 

Capuletta ; or, Romeo and Juliet 
Restored. 3 male, 1 female char. . 15 

Santa Claus' Frolics 15 

Snow-bound ; or, Alonzo the Brave 
and the Fair Imogene. 3 male, 1 
female char . . 25 

The Merry Christmas of the Old 
Woman who lived in a Shoe. . . 15 

The Pedler of Very Nice. 7 male 
char • • •. • 1 5 

The Seven Ages. A Tableau Entertain- 
ment. Numerous male and female char. 15 

Too Late for the Train. 2 male char. ^5 

The Visions of Freedom, ii female 
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